We are the clothes, You hung up to dry, But left out in the dark, Soaked through by rain.
We are not forgotten, - just unimportant. Me, seemingly the least.
You'll tell her what's wrong, Underlying the burden, And allowing the satisfaction, Of validation to balm, You're careless actions.
I don't even get that, You give me nothing but a gap. This vast expanse of emptiness That serves as a constant reminder, Your leaving, And I never mattered.
I could call you selfish, -I guess that's what you are, But I'd only regret it,