Currency of the Mistress

I spend my love on you
like pennies tossed into empty fountains of youth -
like loose change loyally saved,
built up in a piggy bank:
a compilation of broken promises you never made
becoming blood clots in my lungs.
I would say they're in my heart
but I can't breathe when I see her.
Tax season is over and my savings continue
to drain -
they sit at your doorstep
waiting to be cashed out
for what I thought was an investment
but has become a liquidation of my entire being.
Empty wallets haven't caught wind of my addiction,
but the pennies on the ground talk.
Found heads down,
I give them a voice,
and they, too
drown with the rest.

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