The person against my side isn’t you,
the beating in my chest hits that sour note
as I watch you laughing as if everything is okay,
but the music is wrong, has been for days.
I remember our tune well,
but what was once so clear and full,
feels now more of a tolling
of long, drowning, funeral bells.
But I don’t dare turn the music off,
lest I be accused again of hating sound.
So I watch you crawl into bed with others,
and listen to the formation of ice over myself.
I loved once, the lyrics that fell from your lips,
but now they are just disjointed plagiarism.
Its sad, being made to watch it die.
The last note my footsteps.