He said he doesn't love you.

drooping ceiling tiles

jagged planks of wood on the floor, splintered, dirty feet:

choruses of broken angels banished from heaven 

wandering the streets like rats

feeding on anything and anyone they can find

these are the days of solace we hold tightly

with closed lips and raised guards to fight off any stifling chance

of love, of happiness, of trust. 

people are dogs

straight from the bowels of hell, and my love,

I'm in no rush to pick up another stray.

Reviews

[I Shred This Cabbage]

A very biting, tenacious poem. Some wonderful ideas, taking convention and turning it on its head. Well done :)

[zainul]

I think the last line is very indicative of your piece.
Love the style.