The last red ray of light from the sun had disappeared,
but the cold blue glow of the radio worked just as well,
slipping across the bedroom floor into the dark corners.
His hands were bleeding; warm, slick, cherry red blood
slipping through his fingers, running across his hands,
sliding down his wrists to pool in the crook of his arm.
The photo frame was broken, the glass spread about.
The pictures, memories had been yanked out brutally,
each one torn into pieces, and burnt around the edges.

The gazebo poles had turned gray at some point.
The wood was cracking and warping out of shape.
Once, it had been filled with rich, rolling laughter,
as girls traded gossip back and forth like candy.
Friendships had been forged, like alliances built.
The plants about had not survived the last winter,
and no one had bothered to plant new ones again.
The gazebo had been built for a boy who had died.
The only problem was no one remembered his name.

The classroom was almost empty.
All of the other students had left;
all except just one had moved on.
The chalk board was covered,
but none of it stood out anymore.
Too many words, too many smudges.
It all blurred into an unreadable mess.
Someone had knocked over a chair,
and not bothered to pick it up.

The letters had been thrown out;
the letters someone had saved.
Thrown out still folded neatly.
They wouldn’t be opened again.
They wouldn’t be read again.
Their crisp white and blue lines,
had unidentifiable, dirty things
smeared across all of the words,
that had once meant so much.

Um, one little question. I turned this in for an assignment, and my teacher loved it, but didn’t understand any of it at all. . I didn’t
know whether to laugh at her or cry. So, I’d really appreciate it if you could write in a review what you think this was about. Thanks!