It’s the brokenness you cannot see,
The trail of hearts behind me.
Or, perhaps it’s fairer to say, a trail of lust turned cold;
It burns bright gold, a beach and a boat, the sun on my skin, Jackie-O frames.
There’s laughter, conversations, playful negotiations made.
Walls tumble, a connection is raised, a pale thread thin; Hope for the more.
Yet, there is no skin, no breath on lips, no warmth;
I can’t feel you, it’s imagination — your absence, your glowing presence snuffed.
And, I’m not one to lead on; I can’t give what you want —
For you can never hold my hand, and love me ‘here.’
Nor take all your obligations; bear my burdens with me — I’ll bear yours.
I wanted to converge, but you’ve needs, they crush me — until the real me erodes;
I’m no longer your woman, I’m a picture, an image — crushed until she bleeds.
A splattered painting, impressionism ruined; canvas punched in.
Throw scarlet paint over me, my details, my person — she aches;
A meaningless chit, sinful — not whole, but she’s learned she needs to say when;
Her body bends, but you’re not here; we’re both lost.
You forgot about me, while I was trying to satisfy our yearning.
Brokenness and trust, I gave you half my secrets;
There’s too many miles to share the rest;
You so so real, but I’d rather live in harsh reality, than be a siren of our misery.
And in the end I know, you’ll prosper; you’ll not miss me long — though you said so.
I’m still caught in these silken webs, little threads, they never form a tapestry;
They only snap until there’s nothing; I’m stone and I can’t return to life.
And worst of all you’re decent, you could’ve been just right;
But it’s the end and I’m my own white-witch;
Stone is our relationship.
©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.