The Grey-Toned Room

The absence of her

is one of a bedroom

furnished with personal fantasies and splashes of fame

Pink florals

walls the color of your childhood dream

a beaded necklace hanging on the dresser knob

music spiraling in the air-space

when you poked in to say goodnight.

The floors ripped out

a gutted room from

each

grey

corner

the closet emptied of fashion-clad demons

leaving a trail of black glitter

you so reluctantly swept up with bitter tears

Each morning you place a blueberry donut on a single plate

and sit on the floor

surrounded by grey, spaced-out walls with no paint

because that was the rule-

no paint

no color

if there was no inhibitor

The broken fragments in the room resent you

Even the faded lipstick mark

on a shard of broken mirror

envelopes into a pout.

The blueberry donut would’ve been eaten up

crumbs trailing from the dresser to the bathroom sink

music would strum against the soft bristles of

powder brushes

the hums a gift you could sleep in

At lunch you return

“Just eat with me?”

But the walls never reply

can’t reply-

they have no color

so you take it in your room

but those walls and their color are not yours anymore

there Is no life next to them

the absence of her

The absence of her

each day

clinging onto its dust and unavoidable emptiness

is a death to me.

I pass the grey-toned room

there’s no way to avoid it’s presence.

However, I can’t help myself

(though I should know better by now)

from turning in and seeing if any color has returned