Vacancy
My flowers have died and my petals are wilting,
While he sits on his high horse not feeling guilty,
That’s how I’ll always see him he’ll always have thorns,
With a beat in his chest that is tired and worn,
He’s a cowering lion with a lost lonely soul,
And never thought twice when he blackened my gold,
When he yearns for my presence he’s knows it’s his fault,
I hope it eats him alive to think about what he lost,
His words have been empty since the day that he left,
And will continue their vacancy if I hear them again,
Good girls are prone to misty blurred eyes,
As they cloud all the signals that point to his lies,
My heartbreak is stacked up into hand written notes,
And the regret of his memories weave into my poems,
They tell stories of words that have still gone unsaid,
Just beautiful words that express my regret,
As I look out my window and over my shoulder,
I’m waiting for a piece of what is already over,
But he’ll always be on that high horse surrounded by thorns,
And all of his words will be empty and worn,
So there is no use to find meaning if it is already over,
Just to hear vacant words and pretend I got closure.
