Eraser bits on paper

I am sitting in the middle of my room

the wall are bare,

there's a shadow of where my bed used to be:

The stain of where we breathed each other in:

let hands wander in the dark.

I couldn't keep the details the same;

The walls have our story written on them

The floors creak your name when stepped on

the ceiling whispers in the dead of the night

what it has witnessed.

The dent you left behind in my bed is still warm.

Your scent wraps around my waist when I lie

down at night,

Suffocating me.

You dropped the pencil and crumpled up the paper,

made me erase it and toss it away. 

Only, I can't pick up the eraser,

and the trashcan is full. 

Author's Note

What needs improvement?