Scarcely, it flows like rocks off of ledges.
The dust builds up to hide the eyes
in pictures that follow you through
rooms of broken dreams and dying hearts,
scrubbed clean by tattered rags of clothes
ripped apart during late night dances
when we grew close and held tight.
You slit my throat and watched
as “I love you” bled through your tears.
I felt my world grow dark
as I stumbled through the doorway
to the room where you lay sleeping
with your hands around my neck, like lace
pulling gently at the broken skin.
I let out a silent plea as I grew weaker
and you sensed the hint of life.
You flicked on the lights, drew the shades
cradled me and sucked my pain from my lips.
I could still taste your salty tears,
but I had nothing more to bleed.
My drops of life washed down the drain
where you cleaned your hands,
the once white sink now red,
like the stains left on the floor,
covered now by stranger’s rugs
folded neatly along the baseboards
in a house where it once was clear
that love lay locked inside the walls.