The Vengeance Song

The padded loveseat
soaks up my tears,
and my fears,
and my screams,
as I try to make sense
of all that you
stand for.
And could-have-beens
taunt and haunt
like evil-crossed
fairies, searching
for light.
morbid ululations
ring from recessed
corners of the
consciousness of
my mind,
calling pain and
melancholy.
And still you stand there,
frozen in emotion,
unable to talk or think
or feel,
and knowing not
that you brought this
upon yourself,
but that you
bequeathed it to me.
Mere skeletal outline,
clad in flimsy cotton,
melded together with
wax and a bit of
that chewing gum
we shared during our
first French kiss.
Shows only how
weak you are,
not how weak I
think I am.

by C. J., Marlborough, NH