Hollow brains and madness

Separated from all thoughts
and few senses,
except for the one thing
which still floats around
in your melancholy mind

m e

Maybe I still live there

lost and obsessed

hiding beneath the cracks in the floors
singing like an owl in the meadows
the owl that knows your secrets
the one that mimics the sound of

your

h o l l o w -b r a i n e d

m a d n e s s

Or maybe the only thing left there
in your head
is the sound of my voice in your ear,

s a y i n g
g o o d b y e
for
the
l a s t
time

And maybe, down the hallway
and out the door to the river,
there might come a time
during which
you remember me fondly.

Maybe you might remember
the way I stood there
beneath the willow tree.

I was wearing my second-hand Army jacket
and my prettiest long skirt
the one that had the yellow roses
and silver moons on it,
the one that fell into the river

a n d

f l o a t e d a w a y

into the steamy July swamps

Maybe, sometimes,
during those fleeting moments
before you get out of the car
you might sit there
for just a few minutes longer

because our song came on
and it makes you miss me.

Maybe you might sit there
and wish for me to sit there

with you

instead of being left all alone

there

dayreaming about me
as if I'm some kind of an
impossibly unreachable
Christmas toy
floating through the mind
of a small boy.

^{poetry and photography © 2018 paintingangels
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