Torn.
Left in hopelessly, irredeemable shreds.
But you're over him,
You have been since the day
You picked up your pride
And left.

Brush it off your back,
Because there's no pity
For those who look back.

He may have another catch
Dangling grossly from his lie-invested lips,
But with one call
He would leap the distance
Between you and him
To fall into familiar oblivion.

Split.
Into empty, unrecognizable pieces.
But you're done with this,
You have been since
You kissed him one last time
and whispered in his ear
"Goodbye."

So grant her the freedom
To relive your old life.