There Is Something Hanging

The breath of uncertainty
& insincerity is my own.

I spent the last sleepless nights
reading spoken word [crammed]
onto year old filthy paper.
Your voice is still the only thing
that keeps ringing in my ear.

I've packed you away,
neatly & properly.
Oh god, I thought I did.
Still I am left tracing my fingers
over the letters you scrawled
inside Hallmark cardstock #
|||||01800147228|||||||
I tried to destroy pieces of you
and they took pieces of me for a ride.

This paper mache boy with
his homemade-barb-wired heart.
It never let others in but
it always tore them apart.

You could never fully express how
your heart made your thoughts flourish
when they picked up the vowels in my name.
And I am amazed with the fact
that I kept on hangin' on.
Hanging on like the neck connecting this body to the noose,
hanging & swaying from your bedroom's popcorn ceiling.
That room had always been so faux dark and empty.
It was the perfect representation of you.

I could write about this forever -
re-scripting words of broken love and directional anger.
Only because I never think that this last ½ bit
of emptiness will ever truly be filled.
Take solace, & I know you will.
Solace in the fact that you have won.

There you are counting on your hands
the times you have lost.
What side has the greater number?
you/or/me
The winner will always produce the most
delicate & intricate destruction of
love and human kindness where
the heart dies, & the soul begins to fade.
The most perfect image of decay.

You always were the winner.

Is that reallywhat you want?
Isn't this what you have always longed for?
A heart devoid of love?
In your eyes it is just a way for pity to come flowing.