Disappointment Poem by Simon Lawson

The body is a work of nerves

Electricity screaming through veins

A thousand pulses

Not rooted to this spot.

I want to own this moment

What am I?

Who cares?

I've forgot.

In the splice of a second

My heart fell through a flesh trap door

Its worth doesn't reside in another breath.

We've looked but we can't find it.

A catch in the throat, at least, pain is present,

Tangible.

Expectations are not.

Monochrome is safe.

Except within the soul.

Assurances flicker, dulled

Deadened.

You allowed yourself to envision in colour,

No wonder you aren't enjoying it in black and white.

Promises aren't worth being made.

Who cares though?

I've forgot.

But those colours...