Cracked Ice

I walk on the edges of the ice on the sidewalk
Because I have it bad
Over a boy I'm not good enough for.

I want to hear that crack
Of breaking water frozen long ago
Because then the sound
Is coming from something physical,
Not the metaphoric heart breaking.

For he is blind in a way,
And though adorable it still hurts,
To sit in obscenities
And half-remembered alcohol,
Knowing you've crawled a little upwards
But he had never fallen to begin with.

(just look at all those sentences
ending in prepositions.
curse you poetic license and bad grammar)

So maybe,
I'll walk out onto the pond,
And smile as the ice cracks beneath me.

I wonder if those jagged lines
Will match the ones
I carved into me?