I can't write poetry anymore, I just can't
When you told me you were sick of me
Sick of love, sick of everything.
Our past. Our future. Sick of it all.

So this is how you left me.
We could have
talked. You could have told me I stepped
over the line. I could have changed.

Instead of fixing we are too used to
calling it quits.
We'd rather watch ourselves burn than
to change and compromise.

I wrapped myself up in my insecurities
Forged a knife out of it
stabbed in your  heart.
I was too caught up in my own
illusion of fun to notice you were gone

You were too used to being on top to
allow a wild animal challenge you up
You wouldn't allow your ego to bend
down to your heart

We loved like it's forever, if forever meant
59 days, countless kisses, and two broken
hearts