Moving Target

We sit alone in that ruby red walled room,
My knees pulled tight against my chest,
Cushioning the thudding of my sinking heart
As each reassembled piece breaks.

Before the words leave your mouth,
I stand on wobbly knees and turn my cheek to those familiar eyes
And feel them on my back as I walk away swiftly,
Heels clacking against black and white checkered tiles.

You throw words at my retreating figure like old stories told
Of men throwing pebbles at ladies' windows,
Attempting to capture my attention for at least one more minute
To tell me of your thoughts; and yet I cannot seem to stop my shuffling feet.

If you truly loved me like you claimed just the night before,
You'd be able to hit a moving target.
As I glance behind me one last time,
Those red walls are not just painted, they are embedded with a lost love.

With the click of the door I closed behind me,
I walked out of my own life,
My place nowhere amongst a newly darkened sky;
My rogue silhouette illuminated by a bloody red moon.