“You were blonde when we met” You said
Lips pulled into Your sinister smile.
“I wanted you so bad.”
Exactly 730 days since our lips met.
But who’s counting?
730 days of trying to leave
But You pulling me back.
Each time hoping for something different,
But ending always the same.
Me, alone.
You with her or her or her,
Or even next to me.
But still: You leaving me alone.
(Until You get lonely).