you are sharp as glass and predictable
as the hands of a clock; I know when
you are coming before you appear. you leave
a trail of broken memories after you: a silver
stain of all the tears you've stolen from me, all
the women that fell subject to your tyrannical
love, but I am not like all of them before me.
I will not regret what we had; only what
we've become. and I won't miss your singing
or guitar playing or demanding insistence to do
things your way; I'm no longer a *******, love.