Withered

A hardened hair-gel,

the expired Dior Lipgloss

still half-full,

a lightstand that no longer stands still,

the dead sprouts in the garden.

Two movie tickets past its date,

the scrambled papers on the desk,

the torn out bunny doll.

The dusty stacks of dvd movies,

the photo album

stuck somewhere in the drawer,

an empty shoe rack,

the flickering light in the bedroom.

The cracked figurine of a dove on the desk,

the box of chocolates in the freezer,

your tuxedo with a crooked bow-tie.

A bouquet of withered red roses,

the flower petals you insisted on bringing that night,

the melting frosting of the cake,

A radio turned to the maximum volume, 

a digital camera with no more battery,

the calendar on the ground.