Break things off, because he doesn’t put in the effort.
The love he brings is a lonesome mirage in an even lonelier desert.
All he does is write his poetry, he thinks he’s Robert Frost.
Your brain is telling you to leave, no matter the pain or cost.
You continue searching to find the love you once lost.
He doesn’t care about you, his passion for you has gone downhill.
Expose his heart and rip it to shreds, even if it screams overkill.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
I awoke everyday with intentions to cure a broken heart.
Didn’t care what needed to be done, I knew you needed my jumpstart.
But your brain fed you lies and said we needed to be far apart.

I wrote my poetry because it helped me feel at peace.
You were my world, my personal centerpiece.
Hate everything I gave my attention to, your love was a disease.

I did care for you, so why do you continue to play pretend?
Now that it’s over, it’s my name I try to defend.
Left broken and lost, you were the one who never cared in the end.