But your hair’s undone.
Your former countenance regained.
But your eyes are shut.
Your taunting voice returned.
You think they’ll be there.
Be the ones you call when it’s another one of your mirrors shattered
And your crushed dreams are pieces of the past all over your walls.
If you’d ever had any,
When she’s being difficult.
When I’m still asleep and still don’t care enough to break the haze.
I’m cold and bitter, I don’t like to feel.
You think they are different.
But you’re still left out.
When you feel left out.
If you feel left out.
Count to 3, go back to all those months ago,
The times when I was warm, I was sweet.
I felt too much.
You used, reused and recycled me. I wish I could say I did the same to you.
I tried and failed miserably because you were too far up to grab at.
“She was so pretty” he said, the one you hate, “Now she’s reeking of desperation”
“She was so funny” she said, the one who hates you, “Now she’s just tragic”
“She was so happy” they say about me when I should be asleep but I’m thinking of you
“Now she’s despondent”
But it’s my hair that’s undone its my countenance that’s been lost.
But it’s my eyes that shut, my voice that’s gone and left me mute.
I know they won’t be there.
I call no one when my pen’s run out of ink to curse your name a thousand times
In the tattered notebook you’ve never seen.
I’ve allotted you one inky page, holey with my frustration.
My dreams are intact but I’m too numb to chase them.
You’re always difficult. But you’re always up and thinking of what?
I’m left out, stuck in your wake.
I trapped in, stuck in a sick pleasant hatred.
Because if there’s no you to detest, there’s me.
It hasn’t come to that yet.