Dropped Soul


There are a thousand things I want to scream at you

make you understand the pain you put me through:

The bullet in my head and 

the crevice in my heart.


You said you loved me,

but, as I began to crumble to a pathetic dust

you mumbled something about an emergency

and bolted.


Of all the souls I thought would leave,

you were the last.

You always wanted to be the first,

and I suppose I thought that the throwing of the stone

would be the exception.


And now I pass you in the hallway.

Your eyes scan over me, 

searching for a face in the crowd where it once saw mine.


And I hate you for it.


I hate how you gave up on me, 

deciding I was a lost cause out of the fucking blue

when I was three weeks clean to keep you 

a part of my life.


And I suppose you were right.  I'm a goner.



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