Dip the litmus down my throat,
Gag me until you can read the
PH of this bile burning
Within these useless limbs.

Cheapened silver on her table,
Black market bargains on what once was pure.
(You've never seen anything like it," she cackles to the crowd,

"It may be small, but the heart it contains
Once had the power to swallow forever.")

You only notice that she's
Creeped up,
Chipped away at your prized crop of
Amethyst and
Walked away once she's
Gone.
(But the crystal is worthless when
Taken from the whole,
Scratched and bitter with no
Smiles to refract the light.)

We used to sit upon torn couches and
Laugh as wall art was stolen,
Guitars strapped and acoustic melodies
Resonating in the part of the mind where you reside.
Yet I've walked away with Monet
(Or maybe a little Da Vinci)

And the acoustics are out of tune
(While their frames fall from the back of trucks
Somewhere along the way.)