The thing is
It’s my fucking problem,
Mine alone -
I can’t put that on you.
It’s my own fault,
For feasting on scraps,
Tossed my way
With vague intentions.
I even told myself then,
When I first earned your favor,
To prepare for the worst;
I was bound to get burned.
But it just wasn’t that easy -
I closed my eyes for just a moment,
And liked, too much, what I saw:
A glorious reconciliation
Between my desires and your intentions.
But when I opened them again,
It just wasn’t the same;
I borrowed hope from a daydream,
And have lived in misery ever since.