the bitterness that swells isn't a symphony

It’s not what you say
it’s how you say it
like the doom of our friendship
is imminent
and I can’t open my mouth
to speak words that won’t
add to your bitterness

Because I don’t like the martyr
you’re dying to become
like this lack of love
is worth the suicide in your chest

I don’t know you any more
your wide-eyed Peter Pan complex
turning dark with age
and the lost wonder
of too many empty years

I said your secrets would be the death
of happiness
and you pretend like you’ve forgotten
the late night highs on the other side
of his fence
while your husband waited at home
waiting, waiting for you to let him in

And I’m tired of your angst in my veins
like you’ve forgotten to how to laugh
and see the silver lining of the clouds
above you

We aren’t above the death of love

© Indie Adams 2015