Amid all this torture, surrounded by all
of this pain, strife and struggle, what's left
to gain, if I had you back, baby, what would
it be but just another puddle of muddle;
would I even want you again, this far off
of that track; discuss us, oh baby, please
don't talk to me about trust, I helped you learn
that over and over again, to be a lover, not
just a friend; nothing is ever the same, no
matter what remained; I hear the same old
strains, the same old refrains, feel the same
old pains; the cuts you left behind, they were
not all in my mind; those scars, they still tar
me, when I walk the street, seeing your ghost
on every corner, playing the part of the sad,
solitary loner; they are the kind of souvenirs
that you never lose, the ones you would not
choose as your new tat; so it is officially over,
no more looking back, and that is that.
April 24, 2009.
Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.