The Follower

I remember playing my piano a little too loud that gray evening,

And I remember singing along to every song about pain and grieving.

The snowflakes danced into my room with their frozen smirks,

But the cold spared me as the night came to be just like clockwork.

All the candles on the windowsill swayed along to my lyrics.

Still, the stars blinked distantly like some world-renowned cynics.

And I do not remember hearing you enter my tiny apartment,

Looking like imminent death, ready to finish what has been started.

Your boots left wet and guilty footprints on my beige floors,

You smashed the mirror on my closet, the one I have always adored.

I knew that you looked familiar, and god knows – I remembered

Your face popping up everywhere I went since the last December.

The grin and your bloodshot eyes said it all, but I acted confused,

Like I have never noticed you, never heard you calling me a muse.

“Let me amuse you,” you said while approaching me awfully slowly,

Knowing far too well I am the furthest thing from someone holy.

I remember taking the candles to the curtains, lighting them up,

And I remember you protesting, weakly trying to interrupt.

The wind fanned the flames and they roared with unrestrainable force,

But the heat spared me while it made your voice fragile and hoarse.

With smoke in your eyes, you ran right into my fuming trap.

I pushed you right into the fire, and the flames ran in laps.

The yellow, red, and orange consumed you in a matter of moments.

I really wonder if you ever noticed all the bad luck omens.

-Jackie