Spitefire

As I sit here on my empty bed I wonder

Are you happy?

You know nothing of me

Nothing of my spiteful spitfire soul

Filled with the cacophony of a million fireworks

My eyes fix on the screen

Eyes glazed over with tears recycled so many times

it’s amazing they have not carved rivulets down my pale cheeks

And while I stare into your eyes

You mock me

Pale, lifeless on a screen, you live in some other time and place

What I see is not you now nor is it the you I want to see

You are a ghost image

Are you happy?

I imagine as I stare into your ghost eyes you are staring into hers

Lively, enlightened with a spark of lust

And while I remain fixated in the past

You move on

Without me

With her

My spiteful spitfire soul regurgitates remembrance as if it can disgorge the pain of unrequited love

But still I see you

And as you don’t see me

My spitefire soul is left in the past with a bottle of fireball whiskey

Forever stoking the fireworks that you were there to light

And that you left burning

        I wonder how long it will take for me to burn the fire out

So my eyes for you may be but ghost eyes also

        I hope, at least, that you are happy

        Are you happy?