Fingers Are Fickle Too.

Feelings are only as fickle as fingers can be.
Fingering the ring he gave me,
feeling...faithless...
he was fickle,
and I can't loosen the silver diamond-studded noose
constricting the thunder in my chest...
so I pop open that endless cavity
and toss the one thing that transcends color
as a blood-stained prism
worthlessly to the clouds,
hoping God would catch it,
hoping that his fingers aren't fickle too...

I was faithful.
He was farther than he said he could project,
because after a while all I caught was a wisp of him -
the ghost image of affairs,
that far-away feeling,
that...hologram.
Robotic,
and sickly sweet,
like the perfume caught still kissing his chest.
I can't even twist past the arthtitic division
of these fickle fingers
to finally open up the valves
and pipe away the dam where tears come from -
I'm telling you
that I cannot be a waterfall.
I cannot fall at all.
I am fell,
and fickle,
and faithless.

...So say my fingers.