Good Girl Gone

The silence is deafening as haggard hands open bleak bedroom door,
exhausted eyes encounter a She shaped space where She slept before.
Tired fingers fold forlorn fabrics – clothes a good girl wore.
Her absence attacks again, digs deep down to a crumbling core.

Tidying torturously, duelling dust demons with battered broom,
I try to change the tune to avoid drowning in ghastly gloom.
Yet her shadow still stands staring as an elephant in the room,
asks again to stay and play – will her dance foretell my doom?

Where is she now? Does she miss me? Do I want to know?
We could be in a sweltering summer – I only see sad snow.
As memories melt, merge mushy, turn to tears that overflow,
I silently shout out to her – mustn’t let the suffering show.

“There’s this hole in my heart – I’m forever frozen without you.
I want to build a snowman with my princess as we used to do.
I want to paint pretty pink pictures, paper over all this blue.
To tell you that I love you and hear you yell you love me too.”

I return to my gorgeous girlfriend – repeating same sad tired track.
Her hands hug, she softly soothes: “You’ll get your good girl back”.

Copyright © 2015 Philip Craddock. All rights reserved.