I hope I break my neck, on the way down from the back steps of your ego.

He told her she was pottery; a vase with grooves and cracks.
The patterns of the history she hid behind her back.

Within his words he layered in- like thread upon a loom-
The sweetest undercurrent to illuminate that gloom.

In certain cultures, he decreed, when pottery is cracked
They aggrandize them with gleaming gold to bring their splendor back

For they believe, with certainty, once damage has been wrought
Those tiny cracks, now filled with light, hold truths that can't be taught.

I see how white light startles.
I snapped a pic and she spun in circles.
She wanted a photograph
to cover her mother's epitaph,
so she could have a laugh.

She smoked to get away -
but this isn't what'd she say,
exhaling, "All we are is carbon
and a lack of empathy."

We blended into hues of
microwave dinners
and church alters.
I used to tell her to go
just to halt her.

We prayed to get away -
but that's not what we'd say,
whispering, "Help us be more
than carbon and a lack of empathy."

Was I too complex for you?
Tell me, what is it that I did wrong?
I know it must of been a lot,
For you to throw me away to rot.
You scream words of hatred,
while I cry tears of grief.
Grievence for the love
that we once shared.
It was a passionate,
beautiful love.
A love that along the way
became one sided.
I will always love you, my dear.
You could stab me
and I'd apologize
for bloodying up your knife.
I apologize everyday.
I wasn't enough.
I wish I had been.
  

     (d.d.b)