Don't go off to war yet, love,
     for we have war within ourselves,
     it seems you've been dodging bullets
     you, yourself, shot.

And tonight you will lie,
     "peacefully," you lied,
     and as you wake with bloodshot eyes,
     I realize I lost you before you came.

And when it's time for you to go,
     I find you already gone,
     before you walk out the door,
     saying goodbye, a promise replacing forever.

Which I believe is
     the wrong promise to keep;
     for your words are fickle
     and so does your love it seems.

I try to wear you once in a while,
     making sure if you fit the same
     as the last time i checked

But then again, whenever i notice
     the apparent worn off, tired seams
     from the fabric that was once our love,
     I go back again and sew them together,

Carefully threading the gaps back
     where they once were sewn tightly shut,
     left with no space for inadequacy,
     hardly any place for scarcity of love.

My misguided, solitary efforts then proved
     a love with tenuous and delicate clothing
     that has misplaced its capacity
     to wear out storms and excessive usage.

Back there is where i find
     that not everything burnt out
     could rekindle its flame.