You’ve been punching holes through my
Expecting me to stand up to your
But I’d rather just lie down now,
Patch up these holes
While you use the remnants of my pain
As confetti to celebrate your victory.
No, I don’t want to talk.
I feel more like running.
And orchestrating a funeral
For another attempt’s obvious misfortune.
I feel like I should still keep making
Dinners for two
And set your place at the table
To keep myself from losing hope.
But I’m growing so tired of trying to convince you
Of what I believe.
The love I hope for is as foolish as any other
Fairy tale figure
Or imaginary friend.
I have to kill it in your presence
So I don’t feel like a fool,
And then dream of it as my eyes close every night.