Malignment

You're so dramatic,
hot and cold in the 
same fractured sentence.

You frustrate me;
like a picture frame
that isn't quite centered right.
Left hanging by a thread
that maybe it'll look okay
from a different angle
or a different light.

But us, no matter what angle,
or day or night,
we were like puzzle pieces
that didn't fit.

And it drove me crazy to see 
those two pieces
just sitting  away from the game,
that we had a misaligned frame.
We were never on the same level.

You, you were a constant
temptation to insanity
with your ill-chosen words,
oh-so-innocent smiles,
protestations of 'I love you'
and whispers beneath the sheets.

The road to your goodwill
stretched out to forever,
and I grew so tired of 
trying out configurations;
the countless positions
that never quite seemed
to startle my senses,
although they always
stimulated yours.

Your tongue was a cliché
But it wasn't the polished edge,
I was most concerned about.
It was the little things.
How your fingertips grazed
the little hairs on my arm
and how your eyes always peered
a little longer,
as we came close to our climax.

Your eyes may have been grey,
but they were a slate fire.
But it battled ocean blue,
and when you burned me
I tried to drown you.
And when we collide,
smoke covered us
in a cloud of bewilderment.
Trails of debris,
were all that were left
in the middle of nowhere
once the dust settled.

And in the pile of skin and bones,
was that picture-esque frame
that sat in the dividends
of the corners and glass
that were eventually swept away
in the levity of the desert winds.

We were disintegrated by the weight
of waiting and with no end in sight
all you did was block the light.

All I could see was you keeping
me from being.

Losing the sight of the sun
was not worth the cost 
of this much-needed change.