I sang a song and wrapped
it in feathers; dutifully delivered
it to your door, in the hope
to see you dance.
I decanted the contents in
harmony with a red bow
on my chest – left no note untouched as
lyrics fell out
all over the carpet; staining your fabric
with a glitter, in my eyes.
But mine are mine and yours saw
as you looked down upon my
creation; confusing double
with tunnel vision – no longer
hearing the music that I made
as you tossed down your own words
dipped in a sticky, sarcastic blood.
Blood of us
spattered over chorus and verses
subduing melodic love to silence.
I never expected to witness such
a massacre, here
on your doorstep
and have been doing my own dance