Her Space Holiday.

I used to know this girl. Who gave her love away. To every guy she met. And with all the games they played. She never seemed to cry. She never got upset. And one by one they came. And one by one they left. I thought that I could fix her. If she would let me in. But all of my advances. Were shut down in the end. When days turned into months. I begged her to explain. And this is what she sang

“It’s not like I’m a slut
Or that I really like to fuck
I just want every boy I see
To walk away with part of me
Until there’s nothing left to hold
Until there’s nothing left to hate
I appreciate your help
But even you can’t save me from myself”

I used to know this boy. Who took notes in a book. But he ripped out all the pages. Before I got a look. At all the words he scribbled. At all the lines he filled
But the ink stains on his fingers. Told me he was skilled. At capturing a feeling. That most of us just miss. The simple pain of living. With goodbyes on our lips. I found one of the pages. Crumpled by her bed. And this is how it read

“It’s not like I am weak
Or that I don’t know how to leave
It’s just that every time you cheat
You bring me closer to defeat
Until there’s nothing left to love
Until there’s nothing left to say
I know that you need help
But even I can’t save you from yourself”

I wrote this five years ago. Feburary 2010

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