Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nov 2018
Our relationship is dead,
as a door nail,
six feet under with settled dirt.
Do not think for a second you deserve forgiveness.
Do not think for one minute I owe you anything.

I am an actor on a stage the moment you see me smile your way.
I'll see you on the holidays,
an exclusive relationship of putting up with you.
Like wet socks or taxes.
I'll gladly watch your life blossom or burn from a cozy 850 miles away.

We're not cool and we wont be until [insert actions here].
That's just the thing,
I don't know how you fix this.
I do know I couldn't care less if ya did.
I'd hate you if I thought you were worth the energy, but your not worth a calorie, a thought, and least of all a fourth, fifth, sixth chance.

You're dead to me.
I'll pour one out for you,
If I ever consider you worth the waste.
Alaina Moore
Written by
Alaina Moore  27/Genderqueer/Chicago
(27/Genderqueer/Chicago)   
411
   M-E
Please log in to view and add comments on poems