The door perturbs me,
it is my return into your life,
you do not wish for any longer than a
few moments with me,
but it’s a dead-end maze and the only way forward
is to you.
My stomach drops with the dread which comes only
with my despair,
I know the notion of being tied down to me is
unworthy of your review.
I exist in a narrow corridor,
behind me was the path to this mess,
like a surgeon attending to a clogged artery,
that beholder rushed me forth,
choked muck oozing me into an open area which,
though mildly comforting than the last,
is nothing which I want to re-explore,
why must I resurrect the past?
I know you wait, with cunning charm and
there to smile upon me from behind that door,
your smugness is disgusting, I cannot bear it,
the take-take-take action with my needs wholly ignored.
The emotional heaving I felt as I once
ached for your love,
is now as dead to me as the nail hammered into an
obituary of your feigned feelings,
your absent ability to treat me with respect,
plain to see upon this door.
Though, never was I truly yours,
I received naught of truthful respect,
you were a farce, with our means of untidy connection,
a bartering system in which I was the fool –
the deck of cards always favoured you.
I'm sure your fork-tongued lies were always well meant.
My heart was too desperate, lonesome and open
to tease out the deception in your promises,
so, every once in a while, I’d come crawling back
and stupidly repeat the same choreography,
hoping for a different ending for this pining process.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
All images signed “LMH”
are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock
and all rights reserved.
Photo by Octopus soul on Pexels.com
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