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I walk past your room;
It is still as you left it.
I sit on your bed;
It is still unmade.
I pick up your brush;
It still has your hair in it.
I look on your desk;
It still has our photo on it.
I look at it closely;
It still shows your smile.
I shed a tear;
It slides down my cheek.
I throw the frame down;
It smashes into a million tiny pieces.
I get up and leave quietly;
Everything is still.
*In case you didn't understand, this poem is about grieving a friend or family member. How all the material things are left unaltered as if the person is coming home like normal, which of course isn't the case. A scenario of a father/mother/sister/brother/friend grieving with their loss*
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