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Danielle Mar 2017
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.
Danielle Mar 2017
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.

— The End —