I am not a saviour.
You won’t find absolution
In my arms.
Cowardly hands
Write cowardly words
That you will never read.
My love burned quickly,
Fiercely,
And extinguished itself.
It couldn’t sustain
Its own passion.
There are still echoes of you in my heart
But they’ll fade out
Eventually.
You forget how easily voices are forgotten
When the intimacy is gone.
Secondhand smoke
Still does damage, though.
My breath quivers just as much as yours.
I can’t pull you from the wreck
That I myself am trapped beneath.
There is no winner here.
The stale words on yellowed letters
Hold no depth.
They make better tinder
Than literature.
The angel wings you thought I had
Are nothing more than crow’s feet.
I am not your saviour.