Ephemeral Bliss

Perhaps your cup was full, overflowing even: Dripping.

You always say yes to a party no matter a prior engagement,

And your now drips grip to the soles of my shoes: Sticking.

The faint sound of a song has been my instrumental arrangement.

So long as it rings, I yearn and desire

the feeling of bliss when forgetting the dark and the dire.

Perhaps you hear it clearly too, the echo of a song: Sickening.

It once had been an anthem for me and you to chant,

but all of my joy, my pride, the beauty of the world: Fleeting.

Overwhelmed by malice of others, all it does is disenchant.

So long as I think, I recall and relive,

wishing I knew but I have no clue what to give.

You leave and all I do is miss.

It’s always been broken glass and scattered streamers on my floor:

remnants of bliss,

and none of my friends are waiting by my door.

With all the photographed smiles now gone,

I feel unworthy, and that's when I fall.

The drinks you spilled hold me down

as the glass that broke cuts my skin

and all the streamers frame my scene,

My own party.

Laying there, I seemed to have found my place.