He was always too good to me,
I never understood
why he let me take all,
that I possibly could.
so in my sleep and when I wake,
my heavy heart still tends to ache.
For him and me and all I feel,
for worlds we contrived,
convinced they were real .
Now in sorrow and insight,
sickness and pain,
sleep or insomnia,
with guilt and with shame:
I admit to defeat and begin my descent,
both feet in the air and face on cement,
All the damage is done now- how I'm alone but I'm free-
how no one compares,
He was too good to me.