Child’s Play

Traumatized,

many trips around the sun later.

Your essence still creeps up.

The phantom pains;

from your tear soaked shoulder,

that once belonged to me.

vanished

gone

AWOL

Short white pleated skirt,

stained with black streams of mascara.

Fresh out of the sheets we rolled around in.

The small neon ball in my court,

left behind for a different kind of pastime.

Left behind for pastel caresses,

And kisses that taste of lemonade.

Lips puckered for eternity,

yet your essence still passes through our home,

in the form of a swift breeze;

coming from the direction 

where an abundance of desecration was left behind.

Only pollution remains,

in the void carved by me;

that could be filled..

but only by the soul,

in the bed,

a couple doors down

from the home of my best friend.