From My Heart, To Anyone

1

How am I to move
From the spot you left me
Where you tied me down and kissed me goodbye,
and you rode away on that white horse
I was nothing more than a Sunday memory to you,
a passing glance of flowers in our hair and water in our lungs.
I can not move
Nor will I cry for assistance
Because I've learned the hand that reaches out
can, and will, strike you down
without a fuck given.