Year Eight


You lodged bullets of attraction.

They pierced into my heart.

I would never be given any satisfaction.


Unrequited love must be

the downfall of mankind.

But now an epiphany escapes me

and it’s just a sad rhyme.


I was only a girl before

you wrapped coils around my heart.

You still think yourself as wonderful.

And this, I can’t deny.


You’re brilliant and beautiful

and charming for all the wrong reasons.

Each year, you find a girl

And change her forevermore.


Each girl thinks she’s special,

That maybe she’ll be the one

Even though it’s so tragically wrong.


I was just one year for you.

You broke down my walls

And made me laugh and asked me how I was.


It was so tiny at first:

my obsession with everything you.

Six months later, I know there’s another one.

You’re making her believe that she matters.


I still write to you sometimes,

And you’ll answer dutifully.

Perhaps in a day, or a week, or a month or a year.

Each letter a praise for you.


Your absence and empty promises 

continue to annihilate my heart.

But I still think of you

and don’t attempt to cease my compliments

that increase your ego’s mass each time.


I know I didn’t mean a thing,

but for a lifetime, I’ll still try.



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