Into a cold blue morning your blade crashes,
Driven deep into the fabric of the sky,
Splitting it's satiny sheen in half and letting me see things I never wanted to,
Leaving me to search again in your eyes for truths,
Truths of affection that simply don't exist,

The once decadent milk-chocolate lust that eminated from your eyes,
Is now nothing more than a dark chocolate hate,
Bubbling and burning in toxic acidity,
Beneath the surface of your epidermis,
As cold to the touch as your heart,

I poise myself upon the sofa, waiting for you to come back from your internal wars,
Dredging up the ghosts of the closet that's been locked for so long,
That the deadbolt has rusted and broken off,
Praying to God that for once, just once,
You could gaze upon me as if you still liked me again,

But, alas, you do not,
And I wait in the foyer of your world,
Like the patient in the Doctor's office,
Hoping soon to hear the call of her name,
Signaling her chance to be seen,