i hope Gibran was right about the breadcrumbs...

Cracked, calloused finger tips
"I make love to my guitar" you said
I should have heard the words then...
But I was deafened by your aura

You saw the reflection of your beauty in my eyes but forgot to step away to see the mirror - the detailed, hand-carved wood framing beveled glass... Stained a perfect dark chocolate brown.

Your rough hands pat my thigh... My silken skin... But all you feel is the drumbeat in your ears that you pat out on my body.

You heard a tempo that you played upon my skin, but forgot to see the instrument itself... The perfectly stretched drumskin wrapped over this delicately hand painted base...

You sang me a love song you said you wrote for me...

But all you heard when you sang it to me was a voice that crooned you away from me, and you forgot to hear the sound of my tears dropping to the floor.

And so this song is not for me.

And I can't help but gaze away as you nuzzle your face to my shoulder and whisper words of adoration...

Because you adore yourself... And there's nothing wrong with that.

But there's no room for me in this overflowing cup... My love touches the top and immediately is pushed out with all the other excess things in your life that mean nothing to you as they bubble out and on to the floor....

The love that falls to the bathroom floor, lies where once i lay and wept- paralyzed at the end of this chapter.

Debilitating sadness that rushed over me like standing at the base of a dry, dammed waterfall and then I open my arms and the dam rises... the heaving power of the falling water comes down for miles- gravity like a madman pulling harder and harder- the speed and strength of the water picking up fury and aggression until it hits me and pulls me down to the ground.
Each bone in my body shatters,
Each fiber of my lungs snap
And I drink in the vicious water and die a thousand times

But I guess we won't be reborn until we die

And the more times we die the more times we are born- and the older our souls will get and the wiser our hearts will grow...

So thank you for seducing me and breaking me....

For scattering rose petals at my feet so that you could close your eyes and smell the scent of roses as I passed by...

For holding me in your arms so that you could upgrade from your teddy bear...

Thank you for letting me play a role in your death so that I could have mine.

Maybe we will find eachother in this next life- with older souls and wiser hearts - and perhaps you will step back to look at the mirror reflecting your eyes- and recognize the workmanship of the drum you play your heartbeat upon- and empty your cup a little so my love can have a place to fill and a purpose to pose.

When you're ready....
Once you are dead...
You can find me on the bathroom floor.