I would very much appreciate your input/criticism of this poem. This is my first draft, so it is still a work in progress. Thanks in advance, Lara.

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Trapped in the echo of your last call,
Half broken, and still bleeding, must I
Objurgate the deafening resonance of memories that seep through the bearing wall?

Memories! Memories! Even memories ask why!
As your never-ending odium,
Softly, brutally, Memories infect me like rubella.

Conquering me as I listen to “our jazz,”
(Under our secret stairway, where your ghosts have returned once more to drink from the well of my hysteria)
Lachrymosely, they enter and join your ghosts in their sigh.

Locked in this cage, I cannot bury the whispers of goodbye.
Each memory, each ghost, each reminder of your never
Navigates through my bleeding wound, leaving me, once again, with our never-ending “WHY.”

Unsystematic. But full of power.
siren.