To My Valentine
You’re not a poet
And for that I’m glad
But still your words drip like honey
Your lie sings like a promise
And like a musician
You play the strings of my heart like a violin
While your words resound like a trombone
Loud and interrupting
Unfortunate and disarming
Until I can’t help but fall prey to the art of your smile
A Picasso of my clarity
A Van Goh of my sanity
Your fingers trace and feather like a paint brush
Drawing a beautiful pattern with your skin,
Painting my conscience with every shade of blues
And pinks and reds
Of forget-me-not carnations
As you traced the spaces
That used to house burst vessels
Colored in a Valentine’s mess of a palette
Where my skin blossomed with a dull pain
That was at least familiar
Your eyes became an ocean
And all I could see was blue
A change from the warmth of the brown eyes
That helped me into the ground, casket-sized
I found myself slowly drowning
In the oblivion that your teal possesses
And I became a sailor
Wandering through the navigation of your caresses
I wonder as I lay beneath the blanket of a starry night
Whether the stars I saw in your eyes
Was a glimmer of light
Or the moon, reflecting the stars that you have past burnt out
A fools-gold deceit,
that has the tendency to shroud my sight
Suddenly I am blind
I am feverishly reaching out to a companion
That has done little more than abandon
In this time of wary, I’m afraid my voice is barely
Able to speak above a whisper
Until finally I am mute
And the truth that used to tremble
In the beating of those drums
Continues to crumble
I am all but numb to your fantasy
That once felt so real to me
But now all that it is to me
Is plastic
And I can’t expel your words, recycling through my being
When it finally decomposes
It rots my insides, oh the mocking voices
I wish I could smile again
But the metallics catch my teeth
It wears down on my fibers
And causes a cavity
Hollowed as my chest
All I can feel is hallowed death
When my mind becomes quiet
And, finally
These metaphors mean nothing to me
Less than I did to you, if that’s even possible
But when the impossible became plausible
I didn’t know how to cope
When this love that felt so pure to me
Dispersed and diluted
As a watercolor tainted
By the roughness of a line
Almost as rough as the callouses ingrained in your hand
As your calloused words ingrained into my skull
It formulated a story in my portrait
It was not a mirror, and your words have never felt more bitter
Than the dark chocolate that was sweet,
Once upon a time
In the heart-shaped box that you kept to yourself
My own personal cage
Until now…
Because I am gone, I was never there
Because you never took the time to anchor me
You never truly allowed me to be yours to lose
I was simply yours to use