you probably think this
is about you.
it is.
I gave you roses
yet you gave me thorns.
I helped piece you together
when you were left torn.
and now, I'm thinking and driving
fighting with the curbs
wishing they'd win.
following the wagon too close
flirting with falling off
just to be myself again.
it is
still about you.
every letter, every message
falls into the fire
burning each of your words.
they echo in my ears
as they turn into embers;
and rise to the sky.
it's evident, they never mattered.
and neither did i.
you probably think this
is about you.
not anymore.
you are gone
with the wind.
and your hair waved goodbye.
it's all i ever wanted,
now i can live
my life.