Your apology is like a paper airplane:

It is crudely crafted from juvenile perceptions of areodynamics.
You rip and fold your words to resemble what you think will fly,
You marvel at your perfidious attempts to fool me with personal touches.

You reach back and send it soaring through the air.
Your eyes sparkle as take-off goes well.
The flight follows a logical trajectory,
but truth’s gravity uncovers your faulty engineering.
You cannot disguise pretense.
Your face falls as the flimsy contraption loses steam,
and takes a sudden nose-dive. 
I hear a pitiful “swish” as the paper slides along an abandoned, dirty floor.
The muted sound is all I need to hear while my back is turned,
and I’ve already lost interest.

No fiery crash.
No explosive sounds. 
Just an unfortunate wimper.

I step over it and find my way to “safety”.
I hope you left traces of your DNA for 
the investigators to find when they search the meaningless wreck.