Macabre

3-4

Acrid smoke sneaks through the vents into my lungs,
vapor leaking out from under the hood.
You said you'd fix it but I got that feeling you never would.

And the barriers shatter silently in anticlimax,
I doff my hats at invisible lines marred by soft soled shoes.

I knew it'd be me. I called it, me not you.
Words from the macabre, a tryst or two-
I knew it'd be me. Not you.