Tea cups and Anchors.

Those watercolors pour out of my veins,

and I ache.

I don't remember the last time I smiled.

Isn't that a shame?

You always told me I was dry as a corpse.

If the stars lined up in alphabetical order

according to the moon's roster,

would you gaze at them with me?

Would you hold my hand under the milky way

like you always did before?

I feel no more pain for what happened

between us.

I am utterly numb,

and only scars and bruises remain to remind me

of you.

You're an anchor, steadfast in the sea,

holding strongly to your ground.

And I am just a tea cup,

fragile and dainty and all alone.

Tea cups and anchors, they don't mix.

Only two decisions can come from this.

To be strangely different, and walk away,

Or to be exact opposites but still stay.

If passion exists, the second option is revived,

but logic wins over desire,

so to the first idea,

you win.