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

At me.

But you're not;

I don't think you've seen me

At all.

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.