Plight of the Loverboy
About refusal to heal.
By Marquise GrantPublished 6 years ago • 1 min read
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I don't have a heart to break
it was never put back together
last I ever checked,
you had your hands on it last,
and every woman afterward just played with broken glass,
and gave me a pass, because some saw sense in my mess,
palms on my chest
hard to confess that I often feel nothing
still something makes me chase a face to take your place.
things change, we know that better than most,
this time I chose to stay on my toes, ready to weave if need be,
bullets miss like I hit the matrix and it froze,
I never stopped being who you said I was,
if I wasn't, then why would I say I was.
maybe cause you're the most important critic.
you ate here, slept here, drew patterns in my carpet.
Beautiful, but temporary, washed away by my dragging feet.
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