that four letter
word while your hand
is wrapped around her waist.
Why I still think about your taste
I’ll never understand.
you keep saying I’m yours
but our distance tells me otherwise.
So why do I act surprised
when the excuses arrive again?
I keep trying to shut my door
knowing you’ll sneak back in.
But I’ll wake up with the sunrise
and count the spiders under my bed,
battling contradictions in my head.
You’ll contact me in the afternoon
and pretend you’ll visit very soon,
then you’ll repeat your signature phrase:
“I love you.”
But I know you don’t meant it, as always.