I'm starting to

think I'm doomed,

trapped in my room

with all my tombs,

lights barely lit,

I can feel the gloom.

My mind is in a frenzy,

my heart almost empty,

don't spill what remains because

that can get deadly.

She chose to drink

the last sip,

good thing those 3

words never slipped

between my lips,

although if you look closely,

they were always

written in fine print.

Her glass is still full,

sprinting to the past,

hoping for what could be,

instead of staying

with something that will last.

So I made that decision

to give her a taste;

she wasted it,

spat it in my face,

all of the smiles,

shyness and text messages faked,

using that last drop

to get her through the heartbreak.

—

10/2/20

2:56 AM

—