with a carnival balloon in hand
and paper banjos playing softly beside the river,
he walked home alone
pausing to release the fictional hope
of ever finding his own huckleberry friend.
reluctantly, he then placed his love…
in the museum of his soul.
the pile of faded blue t-shirts
that sit silent in the corner of an empty room
still have the scented memories
of his wasted kisses, lost loves,
and the absent knowing
of how to feel something for someone.
a soul torn in half
both cold and broken
takes pictures in the dark
of yesterday’s closing door.
enduring the season
where wine numbs the hurt,
his feet push down old memories of missed loves
deep into the coarse shelled sand
where tides quickly wash away …
another year passed alone.
the winds blew
and what was once written,
is now erased.
in the basement of his soul,
concealed scars reached up to
turn off the light to his heart.
carved away by a river of pain,
the worn and jagged edges of his heart
now expose the forgotten sedimentary layer
of how to love himself.