It died today.
It died when the glass--
the delicate, oh-so-fragile thing
that held your fourth tumbler full of crimson
that you said was healthy for you heart
but that made you red in the face in a way that could
not be good--
left your hand
left your hand and met the air
and hurtled with a passion that never belonged to me
across the room all the while spraying red drops like blood
like the venom that dripped from your mouth.
It left your hand and met the air
and hurtled with passion
so much passion that was never mine.
Then hit the wall.
And that was the thing.
The thing that had kept it together.
The thing that kept it alive.
And there it was.
Broken.
The little glass pieces
that had been so smooth
so delicate
now jagged and hard
surrounded by blood.
We died today.