cliché musings

her eyes had sunken,

the last time i saw her,

and bubbled up whirlpools that

refused to swirl and spill

over down the ridges of her

cheeks, but i was still caught

drowning and head pushed further

underwater because, really, that

would be my only fitting punishment.

she laughed when i said, she 

seemed upset, like she was 

already broken, except that didn’t 

keep me from turning the cog

too hard. like i can’t help myself. 

i offered the olive branch and

she snapped it in half, throwing

the jagged, empty, pointless

sticks over her shoulder.

i saw myself ripping away,

untying from the strings

i spent so much time attaching

to her sleeves, and i was

nothing but a discarded branch,

to still smile when she looks

at you with shattered eyes is a

dangerous thing. it must feel

better to not look at her at all.