he spent the day talking with a cheapness
gleaming his words to a dangerous low.
if ever she had known just what he meant
never before the words formed within her hands
to throw at him over and over again,
"even beautiful things rot"
she cursed the day she loved him so.
she had written a note inside of her head
that broke into smaller sentences
and crawled into the cracks
of her breaking heart
to burrow further than hurt is imaginable
and blossom once more as tiny spiders
crawling on the back of her neck.
he knew she would be waiting in silence and lonesome,
beyond grace,
built up from the bottom with rage and scorn.
he had known of the faulty footing he was in
yet still decided that now was as good as ever
to jump from the bridge he refused to burn.
he prepared an apology to god
for letting one of his greatest creations
spoil like meat in the summer's sky
and she was preparing the sharpness of her words
to slice open the throat of her former love
and leave his rotting heart
dying in the palm of his empty hand.