I am not the ladder with the creaking rungs upon which your dusty feet may find stability,

nor am I the svelte key to dissipate any and all resistance to your god-given right to happiness,

nor can I entice you successfully from all the obstacles you have constructed
precisely for someone to lead you through.

And in all of this you are mistaking my momentary passing

for a longing glance in your direction.

Like the bile in my throat, all the Valentine's hearts and roses on anniversaries that
have been force-fed to you from an early age ring out

as you call y name, your voice cloaked in what you thought was love.

and I hear only the clang of my heels upon the pavement.