I bring a lot to the table,
a choice of three.
But everything I do just falls flat.
I could call it karma,
but I don't think it works
like that anymore.
And you make it a point
to have eye contact.
Was it to hurt me?
Was it to show just what
kind of monster lives
in that soul?
I might be a joke,
but the biggest one I believed
was the capacity of you to care.
One minute laughing with
an old friend,
the next was just sweat.
Why would I care?
Just listening to the hustle
and bustle of everyday
life passing me by from the
other side of the bathroom door,
suffocating my life with a hand
over my shallow existence.
Can never let go,
not ever since an ex of an ex
helped me realize just how
I flow.