Every time it happens again,
the tinkle of my broken heart,
echoes like a tinny souvenier ,
bought for a dime at a sleazy coastal gift shop.

Reminiscent of another cheap relationship,
discovered on a street corner,
cemented through an email,
nurtured like a disposable soul.

Waves crashing through my stomach,
shards of glass surrounding my black heart,
all signs of the end of the beginning,
circumspect the beginning of the end.

Liars, cheaters, whores, and players,
we populate this earth from top to bottom,
never satisfied with one drug, one fix,
on to the next lover without a touch of remorse.

Doubt far from our vocabulary,
romance infinitely dispensable,
a condom in a truckers bathroom,
your kiss of flat beer and cheap cologne.



The blackness of this world,
evidenced by the blankness of my stare,
as I fake this game of life,
and the orgasm I never had,
to hear you tell me you love me.