Inane Pain

You killed it

I killed it

When we hung up the

Phone.

You were rose tea

Sweet with honey

A comfort when life

Grew cold.

It’s cold now

But there is no

Comfort.

Only a hazy black

Covering you.

Now, coffee grinds

Thrice used

But not by me

You are not my tea

My caffeine

My comfort

And I am not—

What was I to begin with?

Just someone who needed

You.

Just someone you didn’t

Need.

Just someone who cries for

No one.

And

Everyone.

But mostly for you.

And now, you and I,

We killed it,

We filled the kettle

With glass shards

Filled the flowery mugs

With snake skins.

And the house

With sticky honey

So the ants will come

And like me,

Sink and die

In the sugar tar pit

You left

On the carpet.

I was yours

But,

You weren’t mine.

I

still keep the tea leaves and mug that you

Love

And wait for the rumble of your car as

You

Drive up. I wish that maybe you

Still

Think of me.

As I think, weep, and wait

For you.

We killed it

But,

Maybe someday

We

Will fix it

Can’t

We make it new?

Recreate it.

Our love

Is not

Dead,

Dead,

Is not

Our love?