Theatre of Emptiness

really just an old building.

Like bits of stale popcorn
dropped by greasy hands,
blackened gum
mashed into worn carpet
in the stale balcony of
an art deco drab theatre of pain,
I am the remains of your love.

Thanks for discarding me with memories
of Bella Lugosi and The Mummy,
parading with lurching steps
across the screen of your
heart and mind.

One more ticket left punched,
and a few kids sneaking through
the back door and up a deserted aisle.

A final curtain falls, closing credits.
The applause dies down,
audience exits left and right.
Take it to the parking lot.
Leave the janitors to sweep the mess.
Into the trash goes stale popcorn,
the remains of love,
and the stench of failure.