When I was younger I believed
whole heartedly I was worthy and
deserving of love,
and these days I just seem to  
take what I can get.

I keep starting tiny fires
to keep me warm
if only momentarily,
they only leave me colder
when they burn out

sometimes when I'm lonely
I like to glamorize past
failed relationships and
imagine that
that they loved me better,
or I them.

She stitched these lines within her seam
As though they were the only truth to beam
Like poetry in the hands of the blind dream
She embraced the words in a soft spoken scream
Cursing the girl she ***** with her scheme
And like a drought she soaked up the stream
Of a girl who had nothing left to redeem 
Now I swim in the air where I no longer gleam
Choking on the dust she carries in esteem