For the millionth time already,
I find myself wishing I could rub out my mistakes
that are now etched in blood upon my tattered heart.
You would think by now
I wouldn't have to learn again
to never let myself believe.
I wish I had surveillance of our execution,
because I seemed to have blinked and missed it.
I awake burning in the flames of the aftermath.
Our faded memories left to the flames of the past,
left to the flames of unforgivable goodbyes.
For the millionth time,
I become as cold as a dark night without a soul,
wondering what you paid for my heart,
and how much the broken remnants were sold for.
