There I was, in my best heels and garments, walking away from you.
After so much words, now just a lost breath in the open.
After so much of close to nothing, you trampled with your vacillate feet over what was almost something.
From my personal experience I can say males tend to look for three things in a woman. Support, sex, and something I, so far, have just read about.
But it seems to me you don’t need another mother, and it might not be me you take in at night, so what do you want from me?
See, I’m completely lost on that particular detail.
You’ve got a herd of females sniffin' at your ass hole, why give all the grieve to me?
Shame on you for fooling me this once, and once is all it takes.
Shame on you for not seeing that.
I’m crying over a guy, even before he got into my panties...
Is that a good or a bad sign? Does it matter?
It seems to me, as an observant, that all guys do, at some point, is make me cry.
Why bother? For bits and pieces of the real prize, if there is such a thing out there, I’m willing to go shoveling through so much shit?
Am I? Willing? They say you should trust, so you remain in line.
Who did say all we do is wait for the significant other? And who are you, you insegnificato?
Why on earth am I putting in so much energy, chasing something nobody ever promised was really there?
Have I gone blind to my own first truth? When did I start believing in something I have NO proof of?
So dear subject of the day, and it seems to be you, poor bastard, give me proof.
Ill be as power saving as I can
You and all your simplified thoughts, spreading your private chaos around for applause.
You, yes YOU, can have the ball now.
Here, catch.
But the joke was on me. Once again he let go.
The son a cunt got the ball, and he dropped it. On purpose, not knowing he is doing so.
Ah, the bliss of ignorance. Would it hurt more if you have known you are stepping all over me ?
Ill regret you. For the near future, ill regret you. And then someone else will probably come along, and then you will become one of them. Lost figures in the haze of collective memories, a lost image of a man.
And there I was, walking away.
