Empty Room

I wrote this a year and a half ago for a Creative Writing Course I was doing. This is the revised final version that I handed in. It was at the time a description of how I was feeling internally. I'm revisiting it, along with some of my other Creative Writing stuff, as I struggle to find my voice once again and begin to externalize my inner issues

Empty Room

I walk through her room,

Our room,

My room

Colours catch my eye

We smile in the sun from a photograph

Stand hand in hand in front of a temple

Two cultures joined, staring out happily

Forever frozen together alone

Two books lie open on the desk, haphazard

On the textbook below words march stoically across the page

While above black and white manga images of blood and violence

And figures screaming with foreign tongues

Two bowls sit on the wrinkled yellow table cloth

Grey meat floats like icebergs in a sea of rice

Black chopsticks and a silver fork

Testament to a difference not overcome

A keyboard stands forgotten against the wall

A gift requested and ignored, reminding of home

Constant siren call beckoning and ignored

Until finally its screams are deafening

I walk through her room,

Our room

My room

Alone