Breaking Pencils.

I'm left here to break pencils,
over your sudden loss,
to plaster my face with murk,
every date on my calendar, a little cross.

The snap with each breaking pencil,
synchronous with my heart beat,
slowly, stealthily, echoing in me,
as they say, love was never an easy feat.

Jingling keys, songs on the radio,
sitting and counting stars on the patio,
distant memories, now I am left to pick,
wait and wait some more with every tick.