"Love" such an unfamiliar word
You were "love"
I spent hours writing poetry for you and songs you've never heard.
Because I was never appreciated for what I thought I was worth
I now know that, that worth was wrong
And if I am not of more worth than you yourself than I am to I
Then am I to let you sit with me and watch while I die?
For you did not care for me very much
No my love you never spoke words of such.
You took me for granted as you know I would allow
But thou is now taken hostage by your own feeling, mind, crown.
You sit on a pedestal of promises, love and dreams
Those dreams to fantasies, fantasies unseen.
You cloud my memory of all bickering and fights with your manipulation, what you call "love" and apparent foresight.
Your "love" is like a needle, small pricks that barely hurt
Until your love turns into a blade in which I use to carve your name.
Carve your name across my skin so maybe then you will find love again.
Instead you sit and laugh at your name because you never realised my pain.
I rewrite. You did know my pain.
Again, again, again and again.
You inflicted it, you drove it. Left it coursing through my brain.
The pain of the mind is much worse that of a knife.
So I sit with your hand to realise it is not mine holding the knife.
You drive the knife in again and again carving your name, claiming me knowing I'll forgive your sin.
Because I forgive too easily and you can attest
Because attesting and arresting and compressing is what you do best.
So I say my goodbyes to my one true "love"
The one true love for whom I was never enough.
