Surroundings

I had to write a poem about my surroundings.

On these walls lay spanish drywall, tape marks from Nirvana posters;

Kurt Cobain is long but gone,

I see a microphone,

next to it, a mirror

In the right angle you can claim your throne.

A broken guitar,

The melody playing is melencholy and out of tune.

Voices outside ringing in baritone,

Shattered glass,

Profiles and pictures of a memory so clear

To have what I thought was the beginning

Was nearly the end.

Now these papers rot decay

Photos flip over distraught, dismay.

Elegance on a window pane, an old rose lay.

Captured by the crimson color,

All the petals intact they stay,

It begs me to think that in my last life I was a lover.