365 Days · Poetry

133 – Still Hurting

It’s not the same, your name, this game
Or the picture still hanging in that frame
Your shame weighed you down like a
Tray of really heavy things slowly sinking
Into the pool of a place you could not
Climb out of, you were the fool who
Just called to say “I don’t love you” to the
Fool who foolishly said they always would
Which you should’ve because she’d rather
Be in immeasurable agony over the truth
Than still hurting even a little over a lie
So she doesn’t let herself cry, or wonder why
Such is life and she ought’nt spend one day
With anyone who does not want to stay

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