3rd Floor Stairwell (poem)

The only place where I seem to have no words:
why did I come back?
It was forgotten, all the talking
you did while my words ran dry.
Now,
in a truly silent corridor I am
on my back.
Still.

The door to my left is locked,
I’m used to being shut out,
but I remember—my desk
next to yours.
Slowly my body would tilt
leaning leftwards and whispering
wise cracks then leaning away
again; but, only after you
laughed.

And now, still
on the floor…

My synapses are firing, searching
for relief as my hand hits the tile…
now sprawled totally,
my ring made an echo
and shattered the nothingness.

After a moment though, it too was lost
in the 3rd floor vortex, it was
but a single chime
in this forgotten chasm.