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

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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

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(C) Carly Wiggins 2023