I looked into her eyes and almost instantly, she averted them.
For what would those tears achieve?
Those tears born of guilt and bred in betrayal...
Those eyes, those beautiful eyes: they spelt peril.
And then she spoke: ooh, the voice of a songstress.
There was love in her eyes, but doubt in her voice.
Pain in my heart, but that was my choice.
I reached out across the table, she jerked back her hand in anger:
I picked up the bottle; I’d not missed my mark.
In it I would drown, the things on my mind.
Inside, I would find, illumination so dark.
I could feel her soul
As it knocked at the doors of my spirit.
Her scent reminded me of many things...
Some things good, most things bad, all of them old.
But I was too worn out:
Too weary of new beginnings
And too worried about past endings.
Why is it,
That we must live like this?
We flirt like flowers, and yet love like ghosts.