All Of This Is Very Bleak

Duplicitous

I've been looking for the pieces of
my shatters everywhere.
I've been looking for a heartbreak
but love no longer seems to care.

I think I'd cried way too much and now
my soul has run out of blue.
I think I'd drained myself in 3 days -
abruptly stopped grieving for you.

You're as quiet as you've always been
as your friends keep playing guess
and make theories of my overbearance
to save you a victim's face.

I'm a little disappointed
but nowhere near surprised.
My friends mourn me for a murder
when it was a blatant suicide.

You weren't a lover to me,
you were like a son.
That's the pathetic sort
of love I made of us.

There was no evidence of
murder on the scene.
There was no trace of all your
match and gasoline.

There was no evidence of
murder on the scene
but traces of self-inflicted
wounds in my memory.

Said you were drawn to fucked-up people,
but left when I showed signs of it.
Ah, don't we love broken things
only if we can romanticise it?

I craved conventional love but
I think I wanted it too much;
forgave too many wounds;
drained my patience as a crutch.

You were quiet as you'd always been
when I'd speak of your tasteless friends.
Till you bite their backs yourself
then smile bright to their faces.

I know I should've known if you could
put on and off friendships like a dress
You would blithely do the same for us
at the first sight of a big mess.

I was no more a lover to you
than a doting 80s wife.
That's how much energy I've
drained out of my life.

There was no evidence of
murder on the scene.
There was no trace of all your
match and gasoline.

There was no evidence
of murder on the scene
but traces of mayhem dressed
in treacherous harmony.

There was no trace of hurt
when I bid you goodbye.
I was nonplussed and you were
bored out of your mind.

You're so far above cheap kindness;
so far above feelings and fears;
so far above some mock-regret;
too far above for some mock-tears
for me.

The soul had a hollow in its chest;
it diffused a blue glow.
I asked the killer what that means.
He said he doesn't know.
It was so hollow, big and blue; it was
the saddest quiet cry.
And this offhand smartass dared say he
doesn't fucking know why.

I've been cleaning vindictive shards that cut 
and bleed my healing feet.
It's a burden eased, a cured disease;
a convalescence complete.

I've been rummaging for pieces of
my shatters in the mess.
I found a sharp piece of glass
and fresh cuts of indifference.

Oh, your brazen lack of subtlety—
changing your loyalties like a coat.
Fuck, of course you'd do the same for me
at the first sign of our sinking boat.

You're no lover to no one,
no friend to those boys.
You're a playful conformist
and everyone's a toy.