You left me on the floor in pieces,
a broken chandelier hiding in the carpet
as rain moon reflections scattered
like lighthearted nightmares.

And all the people stopped their dancing,
paused in still life embraces,
women in ball gowns and men in cuffs
gazing at such a beautiful catastrophe.

You were on the balcony, waiting,
but not for me this time;
it never really was for me.
Her beautiful soul, her beautiful face,
everything so much more than I.

There were applause,
gasps of pain as each person cut themselves
on my remains,
licking at their bleeding hands and knees,
eyes drinking you in,
praising.

If glass could cry, I'm sure the room would
flood, become an ocean,
mosaics rusting and molding
while everyone else died and decayed,
except for you.

Because you're on the balcony again,
holding her hand and kissing her hair,
singing her love songs you don't really know
as you hand her roses instead of tin boxes
promises and happilyeverafters I didn't deserve.

Now I'm nothing but a necklace
adorned across her throat,
broken bits choking her before your eyes;
I can see that you barely remember touching stars
with me,
but I can watch you now forever.

Until you break her, too.