He was an artistic kid, says the paints in a box
on a pile of broken bottles by the trash.
a smart kid too, says the awards on the wall
in an upstairs room; with a musical, all-consuming passion,
say the papers with scribbled lyrics
on the music stand below the window, deteriorating every second;
but not a kid for losing, say the pile of
ashes of half burnt lottery tickets and the lack of games in the house.
A girl lived with him, says the bedroom wall
covered by a vanity and the dresser top
covered with makeup, and they were in love,
says the mural made from scraps of love notes.
Money was no object, says the elegant furniture
and grand piano in the living room.
And their lives were entertaining, says the ticket stubs
in every room of the house.
It was peaceful here, says the fountain in the garden.
Something went wrong, says the shattered picture frame
lying on the floor. Tear stains on the clothes
say he was not happy; the still-lit cigarettes and bottles
all over the floor say she left in an emotional frenzy.
And their love? Its scars are left on the house
like sins on a soul--pictures,
a glass with lipstick stains,
a scrapbook in the fireplace. Something went wrong, they say.
I wonder if that's what your house would look like. I'm sure it would have been elegant and beautiful. I'm sure you would have had lots of instruments and lots of concert tickets lying around. You would have been famous just like you said you would. I miss you more and more each day. I love you now and forever.
