Blue Valentine

This is not what I’m supposed to feel

    on the calendar-marked day of hearts.

I shouldn’t wake with pools of heavy blue

flooding my veins like an ugly, formless art.

The correct emotion is to glow with rosy eyes,

    light as a cloud on the wind’s soft sigh.

I shouldn’t crumple my bed sheets and cling on,

avoiding your presence as I tuck my knees and cry.

It’s not your fault, the blame is all mine,

    because I lack the strength to deflect this wave.

The injury of accumulated stress explodes through,

drowning my romance into a tall grave.

I’m sitting on a raft in the pulse of a storm

    unbalanced and uneasy, while you call my name.

I should want to drift back to the shore where you stand,

but I cannot seem to face the way I came.

There are echoes breaking through of your pleas,

    I should notice the time and hurry to celebrate.

But the walls in this room are caving too fast

for me to revive the passion you deserve on this date.

With soaked napkins in my hands on a grey afternoon,

    I try to melt the iron bars weighing me down.

I should be waltzing, making love, dining with roses,

but this blue blood makes me want to run out of town.