I might as well bury my head
In a jar of bleak black ink
For all the attention you've given me.
I feel forgotten—
Like an old jacket hidden
At the back of the beat-up closet.
Mutual mistakes were thrown away,
And I find myself here, alone—
Standing on a patch of dead grass,
With no weapons, completely defeated.
You hold a gun in your hands
And it would be better if you were firing away
But you're not;
I don't think you've seen me
I guess the best lesson I've learned
From you by far is that
Teardrops and butterfly backdrops
Never blend well together.
Just like you and me.