I had hope those days.
Where the river creases at the stones
And the buried pop bottles float to safety.
But it wasn’t the same after that.


The cigarette burned out a decade.
And coffee just didn’t taste the same.
It was too cold to try to move my legs.
And you were just too stubborn to try any longer.


I never wanted to say I gave up.
Because I hadn’t. Yet.
Although I felt stepped on.
I wanted to believe there was something more than goodbye.


You just never gave me that chance.





(Unfinished. or a piece of shit.)

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