A promise rests on our lips,

Sitting there,

Melting like chocolate.

Tasting like tears.

Promised words drip from you lips.

Even though they move,

I don’t hear them.

I can’t.

But I feel them.

They take on a physical shape,

Crowding the small room,

Filling the empty spaces.

Saturating the air.

I looms,

An unwelcome guest.

Feeding off my sorrow.

Drinking it in until I am only a shell,

A morbid reminder of what was,

And what never could be.