You are a knife that stabs me,
Piercing through my heart.
You are my tragic story
And I just don't know where to start.
You are the sharp thorn in my side,
Poking and prodding so much it stings.
I was some sort of angel
But you came and clipped my wings.
You are a tight hair band on my wrist,
In its strong hold, cutting off my circulation.
You are the map I cannot read –
I scream out in pent up frustration.
I thought I was your everything,
Meaning more than I actually did.
But I guess I'll have to accept it –
Your feelings and the goodbye that you have already bid.