Your words seem as hollow as your personality,
Trying to converse with you is like forcibly vomiting.
Nothing but nonsense is produced by you,
Yet it only makes sense that you’d live as a victim.
Always innocent no matter how guilty,
Always right even in the clearest time of wrongdoing.
You see our relationship like a vase you broke as a child;
All you need is super glue or maybe some duct tape,
And everything will be fine.
I, on the other hand;
See our relationship as nothing more than a funeral pyre,
Waiting to be set ablaze.
After all this time,
You wonder why I haven’t forgotten the way you have;
But you never bother see any scars except your own.
I don’t even want to own a home per se,
I just want some sort of sense of home.
An atmosphere or feeling,
However it should be worded,
Of something I’ve only known as illusive & fickle.
This may be an old story but unfortunately it’s a part of me.