My window is frosted in winter’s lace.
Keeping sun’s warmth right off my face,
(Your silence is worse than this frosty place)
To move is my only remedy.
I warm my hands at the fireplace
In hope to thaw out love’s entropy.
You ghosted me, you gave me space;
Most likely filled my empty place.
(Who fits the things in your drawer, the lace?)
O! These are not words of jealousy.
The attachment ripped where there is no trace
Since I always knew your inconsistency.
All friends show they are of two-face,
The one for me and the one that is base.
You keep my army in a black case
(and convicted to your own fallacy)
Deny you ever gave me chase.
I release our supposed synchronicity.
By A.E. Wallace