the blame game.

i’m not going to hide behind

any pretty little words,

any pretty little rhymes.

not this time.

i’ll set this out there,

finally become clear.

all you are is a complication,

a memory set as bait.

all he is is a side road,

a path to prolong the wait.

and all i am is a lover,

one who views the world as stone.

being made up of glass;

fragile little bones.

and i don’t suppose it matters

all that much anymore.

that i didn’t heed your warnings;

that i sealed my mental door.

because when time whittled down

to the very end.

it was, in fact, myself

who did the breaking of him.

now it’s time, i suppose, my friends,

to sell our souls to the latest trend.

give away identity to the face selling medication

until the very end.

how on earth could i have said

that i broke him,

when, in fact, my heart

was everything he bid?

oh, and hello my dear.

before you answer

let me make one thing clear:

your voice has caused enough catastrophe

in the end?

you both broke me.

please, just keep talking,

i’ll slit your fucking throat

and punish you for the crime

i should have committed.

leave you no time for a final quote.