Your face is just a shimmer across the water, 
a rippling mirror that always tries to find 
wherever my reflection chooses to hide, 
in the gaps a lens could never quite capture.

Where nothing but a cavernous quiet reverberates
through the heart's chambers after the final 
footsteps across a breaking bridge.

I'll never hear the weight of what we were collapsing, 
cracking roads and snapping cables falling 
into whatever oblivion exists below, 
whatever exists after and without you.

Do not think I walked away clean, 
even without scars on my skin, 
I'll carry the marks you have made beneath, 
the myths you may turn me into,
I can sense like the scent of blood in the air.

Your face is just a shimmer across the bedroom, 
rippling shadows and trembling apparitions, 
trying to swirl through the places 
you thought I didn't know how to share.

The gaps a lens only capture a partial frame of, 
where a slant of light crept through a closing door, 
a car engine roaring down the road, 
muffling the sound of my heart
after the bridge's collapse.

You'll never hear me saying your name one last time,
etching over the marks I can no longer carry with me beneath, 
the myths you transform me into after 
whatever oblivion exists without you will not matter.

Because all shimmers are meant to be 
temporary flares of energy and light, 
spiraling embers unable to survive in the cold mist, 
ripples along reflections that know no permanent mark.