Her voice burned itself into my ears
The high pitch shrill of infidelity
Drowsiness washed over me
My face pale
As I watched my intuition, realized
The floor beneath where I was sitting
Sinking in and swallowing me
Your denial was muted
I trembled at the next sight of you
Your eyes were made of tar
Your mouth full of weeds
My blood became thick
My pulse
Paused
The stairs to distrust laid before me
I took my first steps into cynicism
Bitterness guided me
Those stairs disappear
When you pass them
I never turned back
I left behind a girl
Picking petals off of flowers
Romanticism died at the sound of her voice
No comments:
Post a Comment