somewhere in my head lies a faded photograph of you
in a broken frame of shattered tears
and my window pane can’t forget our troubles
since you left, I’ve never felt more fear.
now I see you walking ahead of me
but still I know that I can’t speak
because I know you’ll ignore me.
I remain in defeat.

somewhere in my house is a worn out phone line
where we plotted out perfect memories of teenage despair.
we spent so many hours pouring verbal gasoline,
never did we realize this fire would kill the air.
I set out to rule the world,
and used you to arrange this blaze.
now I try to dispose of you.
the doctor said it’s just a phase.
I sold my defeat.

in my room, on the shelf
there’s a box of special paper
I keep to myself.
its only purpose is death threats,
letters of love,
goodbye mournings
or all of the above
compacted into one
photographs pasted on letterhead;
intentions
long left unmeant
now throw you across the room
leaving puddles of maroon.
my heart shoots like a gun;
carries out
assassinations
long left undone.
and carries with it a tremor
and it rewords the truth.
I can name anyone at the scene,
but I only incriminated you.
I destroyed defeat.
I created your defeat.
I am responsible for your demise.
now, I can finally die
happy.
I own your defeat.