hollow ground

this empty afternoon that once was full of you resounds with the hollows from wooden floors that cry your name, and the leather from the chairs are breaking cause you're not there, and the rugs you loved i've learned to love, but it's just not quite the same: they're calling your name. they're wondering why you left this world so.... 1...2...3. now that you're gone, i'm soundlessly screaming your name. i'm wondering how in the world you could leave me this way. say a word whose notes float from the tip of your tongue and find their way to my ears, hear, what you say. i know what you say. but do you mean it? no. you add the less to the meaning, a meaningless breaking and falling, an avalanche of words that tumble out of your mouth and back to me in hopes that i may "see" what you think you "see" but you're so blinded by your pride and your love for the way the ball of your foot feels against the wooden floors, and the crinkling of the leather cracking under your weight, and the rugs whose patterns we've so intently discussed in a way-- persian or other, aladdin would know -- but you you just don't, don't know the power of your words being hollow and empty and void of truth, and this seemingly endless avalanche continues and now i'm buried in words that if only spoken with passion and conviction would not leave me broken and bleeding where one cannot bleed, seeing for once the true you where one cannot see, and they say that love is blind, well it must be deaf too, for it listens not when i call and plead and scream after you to come back to me and just stay... stay. finally mean the words you always have time to say.