There's Nothing But Grief in My Empty Fridge

 

There's nothing left to eat
in my empty cupboards 
not even 
a left over biscuit crumb
fallen out of the broken rusty tin 
no longer a smell of sweet chocolate on the empty wrappings of the Cadbury bars
we once used to share
happily, on a rainy Sunday evening 

there's no one on our special chair
the one we shared 
and of which nowadays 
is favoured by my lonely bitterness 

since you are no longer here to touch 
I prefer to sit on the cold wooden floor
than to sit alone on that old thing
where once love bloomed fiercly 

we'd watch the birds from the window we used to look out together
it all seems wrong now
same birds 
but to me so very different 
I could offer them the stale bread I suppose? 
but there isn't any is there? 

the floorboards no longer creek
in the middle of the night 
even on nights that you tiptoed 
I'd hear you
no creeks now, just silence, silence of a ghost

the chimes of the old grandfather clock
somberly chiming on each hour
I never noticed the sad tone until now

funny how grief creeps up isn't it? 
almost as if it's drowning you in thin air 
throttling you until theres no air left to breathe

and still all I can think is...
there's nothing but leftover grief in my empty fridge.