Looking in the mirror,
this scene is repeating itself.
The same image of failure and beauty
that could be broken so easily;
a puff of breath and watch it disappear
behind a fog of uncertainty.
You're in the background
hiding behind my expectations.
Take the gun hidden up your sleeve;
cock it, aim it,
don't forget to load it
with all the things you meant to say
but couldn't tell to my face.
Pull it.
The broken bullets will leave fragments
of shattered verities to prick my skin,
scars to remind me of how
I couldn't talk myself out of this,
not while the words were wrapped around my lips,
my protests lost in the meaning of my proclamations.
'I will always love you',
but I was too quick to judge.
My voice never sounded quite right.
It would crack with the weight of truth
that I could never admit
bled through the pureness of my sentiments.
Pick up the spiked words
found endless in your artillery.
Throw them at my back.
They'll pierce my heart
and with insurmountable despair
I'll let you go.
You scoffed at my naked truths
whose only shield from the cold reality of your disinterest
were the lies you chose to believe.
I thought we could make it.
We would have our own fairy tale ending.
Snow White and Prince Charming,
and if not that then
Edgar Allan Poe and Annabel Lee.
I wanted to be your fantasy fabrication, your indulgence.
What I didn't realize was that every fairy tale
is wrought with splintered love.
They only turn out well at midnight
when sheets of onyx blanket our eyes
and we weren't willing to wait that long.
So with a final kiss laced with forlorn despondency
I will leave you beneath the stars,
destitute and dying.
Shoot the moon as a witness,scream at the sky.
The night will absorb every word
and whisper it back in my ear.
Mutterings of the phrases I no longer have to bear.
