oubliette

If my love was an art,
And I wrote you a Juliet.
Would you keep my heart,
Or throw it in an oubliette?
Your love was an art,
A portrait I can’t forget.
You played your part,
When we were both upset.
This love was an art,
Etched without regret.
We had to grow apart,
From the things we said.
Is there still art,
Or did the world end yet.
The way you depart,
Makes me scared.
But I'll still have art,
In my veins, as I get.
Farther and farther apart,
From your oubliette.