Desolate Canyons

The teardrops of those in need,
having dripped softly on my shoulders,
eroded my flesh, they formed
vast canyons of memories.

And yet those canyons
are widened
by my own tears.
When I
have no shoulder for
their bitter cascade.

The aged pages,
the leaves of my heart,
were left open for you.
I open it to so many,
yet so few read it.
They merely doodle
selfish etchings
in the margins.
"I woz 'ere
<smiley face>"
Like some childish taunt.

My arms, too,
are always open.
Yet my body meets
no comfort
nor embrace.
I merely bounce
off the rudely folded
arms of others.
Dismissed.

When you said
"I'll always be there for you."
You lied.
You meant
"I'll only be there for you
when it doesn't inconvenience me
or bring my mood down."
You get no comfort from mine,
Like I do yours.
For when you're smiling
you're thinking not of me.
You forget that once
it was your tears
forming waterfalls
over my shoulders.
And in doing so
you make sure
it is mine.