This last one was the last one.
I can’t handle any more pain.
I’ll stay alone; by myself,
out of your way, and your way too.
I keep receiving calls
and although I send you
straight to voicemail,
you don’t seem to be receiving the message.
What is it about killing me that you enjoy so much?
is it my occasional smidgen of a smile
that causes you to create cracks in my heart
that only caulk and a defibrillator can restore?
All of this time,
I’ve been thinking
you’re the outsider,
but it has been me all along.
I guess it doesn’t matter.
you’re set on torturing me
at every corner, every street,
every moment, every thought…