What You Are

Tantrum | Stella Koch | Painting

 What you are by Eliza Fletcher

I don’t like it when you touch me. 

At least not anymore. 

Throw rocks straight through my window before you knock upon my door 

Silent but you call my name, 

Will you catch me before I fall? 

A lie and a secret 

And I’m not interested at all. 

What’s the point in taking a desperate leap of faith? 

If desperation is what drives you, you’ll find you falsely relate. 

For it’s not hope you feel 

Or an Arcadia you seek 

But a lifestyle of luxury. 

Materialistic and meek. 

You get bored easily. 

You’re only desire: Entertainment 

When you find it in people 

You make the arrangement 

You strain their interests into a sink, 

Wring out their identity, their pain, your kink. 

You left me a dried stem of my once beautiful bouquet. 

A sad, wilted, stiff branch, turned slightly gray. 

I thought it would work out, 

I’d get over it some day 

But my resentment grew with your silence, 

And my love only decayed. 

It became so obvious, 

You weren’t what I had thought 

Your place in my mind was dying 

I could smell the rot. 

The faint calling of my name is completely silent now 

For once I gave it no attention 

And your voice finally drowned.