I keep score. Behind your back. I mark the passage of time. In heartbreak. Moments black as the lines I draw. You are blind to them, as they part of me. My shadowy hands work the indifferent flesh.
“Why would you do that?” The words hang. There is no trace of whom spoke it.
Echoes emptiness fills. The coldness adds another layer of ice.
“My dear, it’s the charcoal from my soul!” I realize she noticed after all