My shoes are silent on the floor and I ask myself
Do I want this anymore?
Do I want to sit here while he guilts me into submission?
Why am I always in the bad guy position?
Do I want to feel like I did something wrong?
Do I love him?
I can't answer that.
While I sit in the shawdows he gets a pat.
Even now, the day of my birth, holds no candle to his naive football god.
Even now his apology is and only will be a whisper in my dreams
And now everyone sees
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