The Breakup

Waiting. The minutes groan arduously. Somehow, perhaps – my heart fails to beat with the rush of your momentary attention. Perched precariously on spikes Flesh colored, yet artificial – Manikin fingers, fidgeting. Mournfully drenched in factious apology. Our eyes meet briefly, then dart with bashfulness, Choreographed precisely. Words uttered repetitively from wine stained lips Fill the tortuous silence – hesitantly. Your hollow ghost memory, porous and unsubstantial. 'We can work at this, ' you finally choke An unfamiliar innocence, grasping - Your voice childlike in its simplicity. And for a second, I recognized that old stranger. I muster a skeptical nod – and smile limply, dismissively Fingering the rim of my glass. 'And deceive ourselves with promises made before?' I winced with audacity – impatient of your feeling, As the words ripped your heart out clean. You clear your throat in an effort to speak - Those words never did surface... My acid tongue, an all too familiar indulgence. I raise hesitantly, your gaze fixated as I shrink. A tormenting embrace, clothing saturated in your scent Sodden with tears unshed. Humoring your touch with finality – An unspoken understanding sneered behind the mask. Face taunt with incomprehension, as sorrow squeezed out the substance. I avoid the depths of my black dying heart, defiantly. Anemic with reluctance – I usher the door A smiling parody of phantom reminisce - Poisonous and seductive. An enormous tear got away, As you lay fragile and broken – bereft. I’m sorry.