Stream Trumpet Deceit

The breeze whistles through the crack in the windowsill like a steam trumpet,
Reminding me of your annoying snoring:
When I had it how I hated it;
With it gone, elsewhere I hear it, in something different,
And I wonder if that sound has been constant,
If it’s just something I never noticed,
Or if my mind is tricking itself,
Making a game out of your absence.
I honestly couldn’t care less,
But then again, I can’t explain why I punched the glass,
Creating a shattering vortex coated ruby red.
Maybe I thought the sound would cease,
But it only multiplied in intensity,
Crackling off the tracks of my knuckles,
And I'm left lost and wondering,
Remembering.
Oh, how I wish I was forgetting.