Separation Anxiety

SEPARATION ANXIETY

There was a party across the street that lasted the entire year.
The new neighbors garage lit up every night, like a cheap strip club.
The small pink plastic jeep never really made it past the side walk.
There was a sunburst acoustic guitar that i always saw while passing.
I wanted to steal it, but i didn't want it strumming in my conscience.
It's not like They would even notice. There was never anyone guarding it.
The fires burned bright and hot, with no one there to fuel them.
The scene was always vibrant, but always silent. The doors were never open.
There were old bikes with training wheels littering the yard.
They posed differently every morning, but never had a sculptor.
Full of energy, but no conductor; busier than the church next door.

There were never any cars outside, there were never any lights on.
Nothing ever changed that summer, until the ground outside froze.
That old house seemed to warm itself up for the cold season.
Yesterday night the small pink jeep was flipped over the curb, near the street.
The bikes were stacked near the garbage cans, stuck together from the cold.
There were a dozen people sitting, standing and singing around the campfire
with a sunburst acoustic guitar. They played music to keep each other warm.
The light show in the garage was complimented by sounds of joy.
An old dusty radio, some laughter, and the merry chatter of beer bottles.
There wasn't even a mess the next day. There was nothing at all.
The decorations vanished, the yard was kept, and the home was for sale
A lack of of color and a lack of sound; busier than the church next door.