Spilt Milk

I no longer find happiness in your name, 

In your face,

In your smile,

I no longer find happiness at the thought of you.

I wish I didn't have to deal with those annoying thoughts of you anymore.

I’m so desperate to move on, 

To move to a better mental state where hearing your name doesn’t sicken me.

These thoughts of you only bring up more of anger,

Along with the hair on my neck.

But I’ve felt that feeling before: when you called me beautiful.

You played those words like a cd with a scratch, over and over until i told you “enough!"

If i wanted beauty i would look in the mirror because I thought you cared and at any sign of question you said “enough!"

Then you vanished and left me to think that i was the issue.

And now, 

I’m alone with my thoughts again. 

I see now that the words that left my lips never even reached your ears.

The trust i set on the table didn’t stir your stomach.

But in the beginning, trust flowed like honey.

Rich and sweet, golden like nothing i’d ever known before.

Coating our throats and flowing from our lips like soft lyrics from a songbird.

But in fact it was not honey.

The sour taste left in my mouth after you were shipped off only makes me think of spoilt milk.

Now this milk flows on the table right before my eyes.

And after all that mess i realized,

I should stop feeling sorry for you, 

Because you were the one, 

Who made me stop caring.

I don’t want to be around you, 

Or play the game you so desperately wanted to continue.

The game we botched, 

But kept playing because we thought bending the rules would fix it.

You’re the one who cheated at the game and you somehow made me feel like cheating was for the best.

So you blamed me when the game ended, 

And you threw the game on the ground and watched as tears fell from my eyes.

You watched as my heart broke again right in from of you.

Countless nights went on, 

Crying and sleeping, waking up and crying again,

Leaving me with nothing but red swollen eyes. 

Eyes that spent hours crying and eyes that spent hours trying to dry, 

But now that river has dried and the milk is sloppy and rotten, sticking to the table at which you still sit.

I did value the transparency of the milk at first,

But seeing this opaque mess, 

This distorted reality only makes me think that all you left with me was spilt milk.