Broken

brief kisses, lingering

melting in the early morning sunlight

deep sigh from wet lips, cleansing

clutching onto ill-decided gains

knowingly choosing jeopardy

no regrets in the doorway

but still they shadow me as I sneak away

the dirty little bastards

so recently cheering me on

tiptoe-ing around it in the hallway

careful to not touch, brushing by

a blurred encounter

full of hate and hurt

one begetting the other

wishing for words to heal it once and for all

either pull the blade out 

or brutally, mercifully, drive it home

bury it deeper with finality

broken rings no worse than broken halos

I will leave it here on my pillow

the final choice becomes scarce

even unknown to the bearer

which broken thing will it be?

the halo? the ring? or me?