Promises

Your broken promise
Rests between my fingers,
Generating a smoke of Lies.

Your broken promise
Sits beside me on the floor,
Foaming with useless words.

I breathe in the Lies,
Sip at the Words,
Thinking of my own promises;

My broken promises
Mar my arm,
Representing "I'm okay."

My broken promise
Resides in journals,
Representing our communication.

You've taught me well,
If this was your goal,
For I've yet to keep a promise of my own.

You've made your promises
And I've made mine.
But I guess in the end,
They are but simply
Promises.
They are meant to be broken.

Aren't they?