i should have let it die.
it was better off dead.
and now i wait expecting and hoping for some small morsel of an answer.
i get lies.
i get excuses.
i get fragrant and delicately played out patterns of word and malice of forethought.
i get bullshit.
i stand over this rotting carcass expecting it to come to life and tell me the story of its demise.
i expect some beautifully tragic story that will tug at my heartstrings and cause pity to flow from my eye sockets.
i stare long and hard enough that i cause it to move.
i cause it to come alive.
this dancing image where nothing remains.
nothing but a cold, lifeless corpse.
it's gray and cold and foggy.
the only color escapes between your lips.
like the beacon of light from a lighthouse luring ships in to safety.
yet that smile is hiding a demon.
only i seem to see you for what you are because i bear the scars from your razor sharp teeth.
your razor sharp teeth that i let sink into my skin for one too many moments.
and i hurt.
i stare at the scars and i hurt.
i remember what you so quickly and easily forgot.
you played the part so well.
but once the play ended, you had no need to know the lines.
the right things to say and the directions telling you how to be were no longer necessary.
you faded so quickly.