The silence spoke of my crimes-
only the perfectly polished clock made
noise, it was happy with its time.
After the 10th ciggarette the novelty
faded with the smoke clouds.
Everywhere I turned a little of her remained.
The arrangement of the tinned soup,
metal soldiers all in line, holding my attention.
The recent letters marked with the red of
the biro, -I could see her circling them.
Her features cold, but alive.
The garden being the only place she
refused to go, seemed ideal for a place
to spend alone. Even in death she remained.

Not Long Left

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/so-this-is-what-has-become-of-us-part3/