Unconventional

I have tasted bitter tears lingering on your lips, saccharine sunbursts, and sensual midsummer songs.

The cruel, hazardous winds of the blue tides of December chills the still air–a crisp, icy taste, stagnant and stale each time I swallow.

As I kiss you adieu, I hope you know it’s forever.
This false admiration for you has expired.
My theatrical, almost clumsy attempt at manipulation has become too complicated,
A web of limpid gazes and restrained, curling lips.
My advances were with a purpose, a purpose I hope you understand was not originally malicious-
You were a valuable, trustworthy, skilled pawn in my game,
Twisting you between my fingers, in an absent, tragic, diagonal advance.

In a distant, unattached way, I felt compassion for you–
A low-burning fire, the licks, like grasping hands, retuning empty-handed each time.
You bored me to tears but in society’s eyes, you were perfect.

The rudimentary conventional, a future I fear, a future I spurn–you and all you represent, with it. An offbeat tango to the back door, your steps too eager, mine sluggish as I dread.

When I would look into your eyes,
I could see my fate- and it drove me mad.
I saw what many others crave, the monotonous mornings, rushed declarations,
But it was never for me–for me, I need more than the daily dose of gruel to sustain me.

So watch as I unfurl my wings and burn red and gold in the evening sky , my ashes falling like snowflakes as I laugh.