The door slams shut,
sucked from his clammy fingers
by persistent wind.
He slumps against the frame,
His stale air like the breeze
trapped within the still apartment.
He calls out
an aching tone, desperate.
His lips spill apologies.
His voice yearns for forgiveness.
He rubs his eyes until they are rimmed red,
pokes a finger to draw out droplets
of forced sorrow.
He makes his way to the closed bedroom door,
throwing his pleas like a fishing net,
aiming to trap innocence as it wriggles unknowingly,
baiting his prey with the lure of hope.
A gentle knock returns no reply.
His facade slowly peels away.
Slamming fists thrust through his barrier
And finally, finally,
there is nothing left to catch.
He stands in the center of the room,
He is the black hole
that turned his life into a void.