It feels like you

scoured my heart,

with Freddy Krueger nails

and left nothing

back for me,

but a bad edit,

in a horror movie.

(Sometimes even those

get the chance at a sequel.)

I leaned in

to lightly kiss you;

you leaned back;

away, away,

so far away,

that a stranger,

with a kind look,

could say, “fuck you?”

and I would

say “okay”.

It’s a haunting,

of past faith

and future ruin;

where nothing lives,

nothing’s left to give.

I can’t even wait

for some mythical letting go,

to cart me away,

away from the hope

that you will perhaps,

someday, see

you lean back

into the nothingness

of the ending

of your flop horror movie.