His voice is strung tighter than a broken harp string.

Her white fists are turning colors.

They argue.

She shouts, forces delicate hand prints on a blue coat.

Her words cause him to stumble, to still.

She breathes, he stares, the silence is pressing.

He doesn’t believe.

He knew he heard her, but the ringing in his head makes it hard to tell.

What affect was that to have?

The world is a dream.

He’s dreaming of her.

Let her define it, he won’t.

His thoughts drift to her past.

She told him, as he told her.

They left. No second chances.

They’ve kept their word.

He won’t care.

It’s the same path, half dead flowers, broken pots, and all.

Only his breath hitches, and he can’t bring himself to speak.

The truth on his lips, they all said the same.

Left her quite alone.

Her eyes are telling.

He’s still asking, because she’s got an opinion on that too.

Right and left the road is split.

He’ll follow the sunny sound of fading footsteps.

His heart tainted for life, dealing with her.

He knows they’d have been better off never meeting.

His thoughts are fleeting wishes.

Demands shatter in the air.

The room warps with the light.

He isn’t responsible.

What does she . . .

Her averted eyes won’t answer.

He swears.

He turns her away, as he follows the path to the sea.

She shadows him, tripping, begging, falling.

For what?

Sunlight mars her face.

Her make up has run.

The trail fades.

It’s all hollow.

His coat needs pressing.

The room is a room.

She’s still hollow.

He’s not so shallow.

Wrote this up while listening to Orgy's cover of New Wave's Blue Monday, and while I like and own both versions, I thought the cover's pace was fitting. Why I decided the song's lyrics fit Scrooge McDuck and Magica DeSpell, I don't know. XD Anyway, I'm no poet, but reviews are welcome and begged for (to some degree). ;)