as I look out the window on a spring day
which looks a lot like winter
I numbly sip my tea
and think of you and your apologies
but you're apologizing for the wrong things
that is why I smile graciously
as you whisper those words against my skin
although I am still dying
for I will never mean anything to you
I will never be more to you
or anybody
I guess that's why I let them all use me
and I'm so used to it
that the pain of this knowledge
is only a dull throb
as I allow you to trace the contours of my body
and lie to me with your clever half truths
this sharp stinging pain only comes after
when I realize
that I mean even less than I imagined