You
ruined my favorite song,
the one I played for you
the night we (I?)
confessed.
You
listened to my song and said
you knew it
too.
You lied.
You're a liar.
You
crinkled the fragile paper of
my heart,
already thin from
ruined songs passed.
When I hear it now
I hear
the drumbeat in your chest
blood rushing through my ears
the breaking of a glass
staccato breath between--
Not:
Your voice
A phone call
Text
Email
LinkedIn notification.
You
ruined my favorite song.
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 8:34 AM UTC
Do you remember when we lay beside each other,
bodies warmed by darkness and our thoughts
all cloaked in silence?
You asked about my words, or lack thereof.
I gave you more but kept my core obscured
and smudged. But now I see the selfish truth
you hid inside your question, buried deep
within the oak tree of your voice. You wished
that I would paint within your ear a scene
of love traversing roads and mountains just
for you. You longed to hear of how I was
a tree with leaves grown just for you to tear.
Had I but used an auger, seen your core,
I would've said it all and more. I was.
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 5:47 PM UTC