Someone Else’s Turn

It’s 4:00 am in my bed, but who’s keeping tabs.
It’s that last message that I sent,
how inconsequential it seems now,
Thought I knew how goodbyes work,
but now it seems unlikely,
Thought we would outlive the pandemic,
but turns out we were never strong enough,
We got beat.

So I’ve learned that it doesn’t work out for me,
tried many times,
so you wouldn’t put it down to a lack of effort,
Learned to recognize the curve;
gradually goes up, then it’s a downward spiral. We crush and I’m shattered, spend many nights trying to glue together the pieces.

The last time out I didn’t bother,
put in enough effect sufficient for it’s survival,
didn’t mind if it thrived,
I left soon as its roots got stuck in the ground,
ran before the grande finale,
Before another bout of short-lived happiness,
figured we’d just spare us the hopes and expectations,
saw the hurt in her eyes too,
stubbornly waved it away,
broke the curse and saw someone other than me hurt,
It doesn’t always have to me.

So I drank down the accusations and the abuse,
Knew I deserved it,
was reminded that I was a selfish coward,
didn’t like the way the noun and adjective were fused,
but I nodded in agreement and maybe regret,
wished I had been less selfless back then,
We wouldn’t have had these problems,
but well, I guess stupidity gets its reward too,
It was about time I wasn’t the one who hurt.

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