Why do all my words seem empty?
Like stale bread?
Overcooked and needs to be thrown out
I tried reasoning with you
I open my mouth
And move my head
The words are few
There are no guarantees
I love you more than you apparently love me
I feel like a expensive painting in a deserted museum
The painting is peeling and ripping
I miss you as a friend
But did I cause your limping?
The exit is your only freedom
Is this the way it will always end?
I guess dying stars still have beauty
(C) Carly Wiggins 2023
myinksmears.com 