Those blames and accusations

Walking out of door

Is not that easy as you suppose

But that is the urge that I contain and control,

And it scratches my soul
Scathed I lay on the floor

Waiting for you to unbolt

And hold me close.

You are never coming

My heart ensures

The way I want you to

Or the way it should be

You are never coming

My God knows.

Bruised,

 I run around in the empty streets

Looking for the corner

That could conceal, my shot down core

Your accusations and blames

Hover, to and fro

Never leaving my side, I conjure

Looking into my eyes

As if they will pierce through my core

And unnerve my essence,  

And scupper my nerves, marrow and soul.

I lay here

Over the effusing blood of my marred emotions

And beaten spirit, defunct

Prepare my pyre

Compose it of the fractured bones of my hope, trust, promises and desire.

Rejoice,

Your work is done

Rest, 

As I am dead and undone.