A Happy Caricature of Intimacy

The words you wrapped in clouds
are tucked safely beneath your eyelids,
but they pushed you further away from her,
seperating like oil and water.

Opposites are only meant to distract,
but you were too numb to feel the mirror
slicing into your hands;
reflections dazzled your conscience
with a happy caricature of intimacy.
You saw the smile
but missed the pain embedded
in her eyes,
as blood trickled into your palms
like cough syrup.

Good-intentioned though you were,
you slipped
on your way down velvet stairs,
the walls echoed your staccato heartbeat
as you witnessed her own heart,
cracking ever so slowly.
You lost count
as each diamond scraped lines
of liquid sorrow into her face.

You shied away from your shortcomings,
hoping to run from the uncomfortable,
because that’s what society taught you.
You’re screaming, but no one truly cares
when you’ve tucked your tongue
behind your surgically implanted smile;
a purchased lie she’s learned to fear.

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