I’m writing songs in the wake of our four years.
I’m writing songs in order to bury you.
Our final few months were spent dragging along our former selves.
No room to adjust to the growth and no chance to heal the scars.
During this time I loved the shell of you. Waiting for the inside to match what I saw of your exoskeleton.
You had the ability, you have the ability to fight it and you don’t.
By the way,
When you said you wanted a threesome I didn’t know it would include your mother too.
No acknowledgement of relationship until you decided you were through.
And now that you’re fucking some other bitch you have the nerve to say get over it.
You said that you loved me, and that “we got to”. Some empty words are never true.
You gave up. You stopped trying. I hope you got my letter.