She was the thing of worship. Her tangled hair
Covered the mangled remnants of her body, betrayed
By your desire. You watched as her blue bruised fingers
Tremble across her thigh, trying to soothe the breaks.
The only sound she heard was that of the rushing betrayal
Coursing her veins.
You watched her fall apart. Fall into a million pieces
Of shredded glass. Glass that was stained with the
Soft supple sound of your voice, wishing to be forgotten now.
Stained with the ringing of "my one" in her ear. You
Watched her fall onto the crusty linoleum floor, piece by piece.
And even more so she would break just by the mere sight
Of your face or the simple gesture of goodbye. Slowly
You watched the beautiful stained glass crumble
At your feet. No more would she fill a room with her vibrant
Colors of light. The beautiful blues, or the gaudy greens,
Or the ghostly grays that would haunt a person forever.
No more does she courageously fill the empty spaces of a room
With color. No. Instead, she crumbles at your feet.