A Picture Promised

Last night was my last run,
of some lost and rotten film.
Propped up
on a projector, wrecked
by the respectful climb
of passing time.
Each frame,
has become warped with warts and fame.
Overplayed,
and all too often called by name.
So today, I say,
“okay, leave!”
No longer praying prey,
overpaying for an ice cold kaylee,
and all the mold they’re told to breathe.
It’s grown only green and greater,
by my own fake, lake filled craters.
Fed by a face replaced with flooding falls,
behind which crafty cliff-raff crawls,
screaming loud this tale told tall.
So,
as the reel now roughly runs its course,
I feel I’ve sucked dry
every drop of her remorse.
Only spiteful soreness sits upon the screen.
An impression left that never seems
to give an inch,
for fear of miles more.
We’ve been dragged, while dancing dizzily,
across the fractured floor.
And all because a picture promised more…