I sat,
With my knees tucked in, close to my beating heart.
The butterflies in my stomach imploring for the key
That rested somewhere in you that I was yet to find.
Vivacious blood from my lips,
Soon desiccated, creviced under my fingernails.
My mind was not with me,
But rather perched upon the bedside table
Where she had left her sapphire bracelet—
Afraid it would crack under the paper mâchè sheets
And against the down pillows, where she had rest her head.
Those f***ing butterflies started again,
Their flimsy wings scarring my insides.
I crept into bed, coddling myself, cocooning my body—
Shaking with delirium and rage—
And pretended it was you.
I pretended the down feathers was your dark hair
And the crisp sound of the folds in the paper mâchè sheets was your beating heart.
It’s funny, how she thought her white gold plated bracelet,
Embellished with encrusted blue gems and white dwarf stars would fissure
Under paper sheets and down feathers, and the empty heartedness of your
One night stand.
Well,
It’s sure as hell broken now.