going, going, going...

going.

he wasn't the kind of boy you brought home,
but the kind you fell for the minute
his smile turned to you;
the kind who's eyes haunted your dreams.

going.

winter was warm spent in the circle of his arms,
not a single chill invaded the space
between his hands and his heart;
the space you tried desperately to occupy.

going.

he wasn’t one who took well to apologizing,
but how the I'm sorry's fell from his lips
when you tried to leave;
the door never seemed further away.

going.

summer beat down on you with all its might,
and as the heat came so too did his temper
which made you want to cry for help;
you took to hiding the bruises instead.

going.

he wasn't always this way with you,
but when the anger came
he changed before your eyes;
you kept thinking it was your fault.

going.

this time there was no oxygen left for forgiveness,
he'd knocked it from your lungs
and left you breathless on the floor;
you didn't notice the bleeding until it was too late.

gone.