Shakespearean Disappointment

I knew it was broken the moment that I became unsure 

if I had ever loved you, 

the moment I realized that I could scarcely remember

my heart racing with anything but raw terror, 

as a message from you appeared on the screen of my phone, 

and I sat huddled on my bed in the dark of my room, 

clutching our mutual lifeline to my chest, 

fighting down the rusted nails 

that were tearing there way up through my throat,

and whispering prayers to anyone who’d listen,

as I murmured for an eternity like a broken record, ‘not again, 

oh god, he’s going to do it, he’s really going to do it, I can’t stop

him, please somebody help him because I can’t, not from

a thousand miles away’ .

I knew it was broken when I remembered repeating that mantra 

more times than I can remember saying ‘I love you’,

when I was forced to find faults in myself 

because I refused to find the ones in you 

that weren’t so clearly on display, 

when I considered saving the tears I shed for you in crystal vases, 

and giving them to you for a birthday present, 

just to prove how much I cared, because you never took my word 

for truth when it came to something as simple as caring for you, 

but looking back I can see your doubts, and I can seize them, 

and frame them on my wall, because they’re the proof I needed

to make me realize that caring for you wasn’t simple at all–

We were never even close to being a ‘Romeo’ and ‘Juliet’– 

when I saw you under my balcony I should have told you to "fuck off".