untitled

poem i wrote a few weeks back

I'm waiting for you.
At the bottom of the stairs.
You're descending from above. With an aura unlike any I've ever encountered.
You're an angel.
(An angel is too good for me.)
You reach the spot at which I've been waiting. Waiting for you.
And you walk through me.
Have I forgotten?
Don't I realize?
My angel is no angel.
For she's killed me.
Ripped my heart out and served it to me on a silver platter.
Swallow my pride and start over.
Without you.
(Only to be the victim of another (un)loving murder)