Leave a message of a whispered dream, an afterthought
In the drawer we use to exchange hellos and forget-me-nots.
I can't believe it could be, my love
Two years under our belts
There too, the gleaning heat of bruises, slight rise of the welts.
Lost chances of love coming in and out of view
Though once you were my sun
Some new love, it seems, has become of you
Objections? I have none.
I guess you were my puppet
My mental muse
What your prolonged absence
Left me with to use.
I guess I'm just a solo act
Addicted to the blues
Not quite having moved past
The fact that i wasn't what you'd choose.