He crushed me under the heal of his boot
Without ever knowing he had me under it.
Well, I was always wanting to be in the palm of his hand
But he didn't want me, so I sat at his feet.
Except he was always one for moving forward,
And never looking back, so this is him walking.
Yet despite knowing this I was lying in front of him,
Wishing that this time he'd take the hint.
That was stupid, I was stupid – I know what he's like.
Just as I know I'll never be what he wants.
And worse than foolish pining and wishful thinking
Is knowing better than to ever hope.
In between foolishness
He's still walking and each step breaks a bone;
This is a word crunching a finger,
This is a touch scraping a shin,
This is a boot snapping right through my ribs,
Kicking up dust in my veins.
And my heart, the one thing I wish he would break,
Is left untouched when all is said.
But any faults of that appendage are of my own making
Because he doesn't want me
And this is him walking.