Misery Without Company -- a poem-portrait of despondency

Here's a poem I wrote a long time ago. It's going to be published in my school's collection of student writings this year.

An ashtray full

Of butts and burning dust.

A hollow, half-lidded stare

Stuck on walls

While moonlit curtains blow.

A fresh cigarette unattended,

Held loosely

Between numb fingers.

Trailing smoke up and up.

A shot glass at his lips—

Locked and loaded,

Drained in a slow moment.

Falls over

When he puts it back.

Books

Scattered on his desk.

Read and reread and reread

To keep his thoughts at bay.

The empty bottle

Of harsh whiskey spent

And sitting in his stomach,

Stealing memory and feeling.

A dry dead red rose,

Brittle and cold.

Empty pillows

Hoarding the scent of her hair

And whispered promises

That stayed behind,

Haunting him

From across the room.

And her absence,

A hammer blow

That booms through the emptiness

And echoes away

To quiet teardrops on the floor.