There is only twiddling of thumbs from you,
A face buried in hair as to conceal the expression of guilt
Do you feel guilt?
Now that I turned my back to you
A small sway in my step--it's the first time you've stayed this quiet when I walked away it's hard not to turn around and ask why
I will myself to take the second step and now
I hear the drip drip drop of your tears-- or was it sweat because you're nervous, maybe now you've realized that I am not turning back
I think they are tears, with a third step you stand up and wipe your eyes
Screaming with them you point to the door asking me to leave it open behind me
I walk out the door and immediately fall into ruin, there was no ground on the other side, nothing to sustain me--dead weight
I ceased to exist when you decided I was nothing
YOU ARE READING
Not Quite, Midnight | poems
Poetry~she sets out to write for herself but casts a line from her ship of lunatics in case there was someone adrift trying to read along.
