You frame your own self loathing when casting aspersions of those that left you behind

Your window is a fractured rendering of a broken image

The adolescent tone of your written words is a sign

Your wounds are clearly deep for which there is no bandage

They must have really hurt you for you to write about them all of the time

Move on because in this life they are someone that you are meant to miss

Your spite filled pen, heart and tongue will never bring back their kiss upon your lips

You're not even a beautiful mess
You're just a mess

Worry about yourself and think about them less

Stop longing for their caress

Your love for them is truth and not something that you need to confess

Repair your window of broken glass
Your shattered vision of what was, will never bring back the past