Fuck Love

The blind could see  
the way your lips ensnared my heartbeat.  
With cruel cadence, your tongue bid  
a farewell to something beautiful,  
like the Spring bids farewell to Winter;  
and in the Summer,
your light reflected off the fucking Moon as
you
walked away.  
In the Autumn, the  
grace  
I gave you was a cool  
whispered wind grasping  
all he could and hoping  
to spin the Earth again, but only catching
drifting leaves.  
 
Go to hell.
 
You didn't catch me when I fell and I could tell
 that when you said you'd be there, you were lying. Your self-righteous hypocrisy was hot coal in my hands.
As I fumbled this blunt force trauma, you walked away. How am I going to trust again in this place where you left me? Can you see what we could be? Do the Winter trees still bear our leaves or has my whispered
Autumn  
wind  
blown them  
all  
away?