I don't know if it's just me
or if the rest of the world
enjoys the privilege of your
cold and uncaring eyes -

but my legs are so damn sore,
I just can't chase you anymore.

And I lack the strength to
walk away, so I'll sit in one
place, smoking cigarettes
and staring blankly ahead,

wistfully wishing, and hoping that
you will, or won't happen to walk by.

Because we both know, when I walk
away, I'm saying, "Chase me."

Not goodbye.