The House of Cards

I tear through your boxes

Tossing pictures like cards.

Fifty two.

Sixty nine.

Hundreds.

Thousands.

Soaring in the air

Bent,

Ripped,

Torn,

Forgotten.

These are not important.

They were never important.

Just snapshots of moments not worth looking at

Pictures that mean nothing.

A boot comes down

Stopping that alley

Where we met.

A scream breaks the night

Snapping it open like an egg.

You are gone

And the photos you took

Lay here with me.