is lying, just like you, feeble on hard ground,
in the echo of your promises to love awhile.
In the ever-aftermath, broken glass and truth
have scored new marks upon my salty, sullen
flesh, raw from the night before, and now your
empty promises are staring from the other side
of acid rain attacking window, liquid heartbreak
draining into pools of blood and shameful words,
drowning in between your first and final touch.
In the ever-aftermath, silence spreads an ugly
stain as i rise, slow and hurt from the cruel use
of promises to break me in the morning light.
