Ending A Bad Romance-- A Four-Part Saga

I.

The deep night spies on 

the whispering candlelight

That frail yet flowy dance

Under the moonlight 

stands a pair of dueling shadows  

A sword, unsheathed

A heart, instantly slashed into two halves

One for you; the other for me

Holding it in my hand

I study it diligently

Is it your greed or mine

Is it your selfishness or my obsession

Never can I

See things through in this dark place

The color tones of the light; those of the shadows

Surrounding sceneries; ever-changing human affairs

The real story, layer by layer

Gets wrapped up and around

I wield the sword to unravel it, but

The speed of layering outpaced my sword

I might as well just slash and end you life

In any case

No way can one uncover 

this now-cocooned truth

In any case

The combats all take place on dark nights

Destined to be a cold case

II.

When the candlelight quietly goes asleep

It drips no more tears

But that gentle killing mood remains

Like a slim, lingering candle smoke

Gradually permeating the bed frame

Creeping into the book by the pillow

Climbing onto the C.D. rack

Sneaking into the closet

Crossing through the mirror into

Another deriding space

It is so thorough

That it is naked

It is so refined

That it is nourishing

Refreshing my bones and tendons

Singing praises to my flesh

Surely

The movement of my sword will be slick 

But will I

Grant you an easy exit from the world?

III.

Sunlight forces itself into my dreams

With that, I can’t carry my weapons

But silently watch your imperious act

At the mercy of your invasive gazes

As always

Except, the moaning no longer embodies pain

Except, the subtle mood for killing you

Doesn’t dissipate

Determined to

Keep on expanding

Extending

Through both finite and infinite networks

Approaching you

Thereby, I enjoy some joy

IV.

The morning light lays its eyes on

The awakened candlelight from afar

The unwilling and yet gratifying rhythm

I cease caring whose fingers slide across my body

The sword still insists on staying unsheathed

Intensifying the urge to kill

Intending to bury with you what I’ve held in my hand–

That weathered one-half heart 

which, with just one tender touch, collapses into ashes 

Now... I smirk

Realizing that you always allow me a short enough distance

To wield the sword and take your life with ease

This would be an unfair victory though

I’d rather relish my mental rehearsals of how

I would fight you for hundreds and thousands of rounds

Until 

The other half of the heart, held in your hand, also

Turns into ashes and goes where the wind goes

And until 

We both can look into each other’s eyes without

Having any feelings

… 

May this battle end