The Beauty Of Closure

Theres a face in the moon that murmers you'll be back soon evaporating by the light of day I'm feigning grace as i croon comfort to my wounds while you recede into your neither of grey and I know that I never reached you there. You're cold, careless, cunning, the soft words that kept me from running the sincerity of your deceit imploded my inherent caution aware this was coming, i had to believe naievely in something so innocently, a subliminal flower, I folded you into my blossom and I thought i could reach you there. Your fingerprints taint the curve of my back, the tangle of my hair. You had the nerve that i lack, the strength not to care the articulate bullshit leaking from your velvet iron tongue i knew for its worth, but it still pulled me undone but disconnected, torn and broken, I am safe from fear because I know that you will never reach me here. Alcohol and salt seeps into my pores, but I can't resist the craving for more and I pose myself with the detached nonchalance that i learned of your face but you are not mine to hold or keep desperately as before. Now its the deep shudder, the close of a door and the magnificent pain as i fall to the floor lie there as the inebriated inadequacy wasting your space and I wish I could reach you there.