Bad Love

Her image was an afterthought
And during, and before —
Her love an appetizer,
As he always wanted more –

She posed as less indifferent
Than he knew that she was;
For that is how she handled things.
Don’t ask why. Just because.

He gave her all his money and
Attention and his time;
She took it as her royal due.
For she was in her prime

Of when she would not question
What she got, or, who’s to blame:
And he knew that she didn’t care,
But gave it just the same.

His love to her: an afterthought.
Not during, not before —
His endless words a type of noise,
His agony, a bore —

And she broke off for someone else
Whose love was what it was:
A type of boredom she knew well:
Don’t ask me why. Because

We do the things we do, and find
That life is strange, indeed;
But all we have are choices, and
A heart that’s made
To bleed

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