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.