Goodnight

She clung to her pillow
starring at the clock head.
It was three past after
when she should have been in bed. 
Counting down the hours, 
counting up the seconds 
until it all sunk in. 
On the wall hangs a picture of them
two months earlier dreaming
of what might have been.
Thinking now about what could have,
knowing that it shold have 
all been
yours. 
She couldn't breathe
suffocating without him
because he had to leave. 
Praying out loud,
cussing in her head
wishing he would come back,
but knowing he never would. 
Because like a steel knife,
cutting deep wihtin,
like a bullet ringing loud
swerving your head,
their future had become
dead. 
No white flag hanging in surrender,
no game of thrones
where there is a collection of bones
vibrating in anticipation of your touch.
No good bye or see you later,
an empty bed and closet
are the only translators.
Besdies maybe to try and guess 
the games you played inside her head.
The one where you said you loved her,
but she bled out
one
too many times. 
So here she clings to her pillow
starring at the clock head
counting down the betryals,
counting up the times
she should have left.