There is something we don't speak of
You and I.
The glass cuts your feet
As I slip behind the balustrade.
A careful hush.
I'm gone and your footprints echo,
A resounding heartbreak.

At night I crash into your quiet.
A stumbling drunk,
marred by frivolity and words
I am unable to possess.
A darkening hallway,
A broken crown,
And the moments before you leave.