Cannot lie,
I felt like a ***** when I said good-bye.
Knives cut into my flesh and I bled out in your name,
but *******, did you write me off with a mutual slip of solitude.

Your voice remained dead sea still, calm as a frozen over lake,
but so ******* cold  I couldn’t feel my legs.
You told  me, if it ever came to that, you’d be understanding,
so comprehensive that I wouldn’t feel a thing.

*******, you were supposed to fight for me,
call my name, tell me you love me and that we can get better.
You slacked off and forgot to call me,
when I wept in my own bleeding palms,

You put me on hold.

So you could tell your friends you were too busy to have fun.
As if hearing my lips quiver through a phone was so much hell for you.

You were supposed to object to my stance,
tell me you’d get better, that you’ll remember more,
and put me first.
Maybe a let’s talk this out first, I love you too much.

Because when you answered that phone,
I still loved you.
You never fought, you let me do this so easily,
my hands shook and my ribs rattled and you said,
Okay, I get it. Have a nice life.

That’s what hurt the most, and the stabbing still lingers,
because you quit, long before that phone call.

Now, I feel bad for you,
not because I left,
but because you let me go.