I wrap myself in fleece each night
hoping it will make me feel safe
until midnight's blanket fades out
and dawn begins to break.
Memories are weighted with beads like 90's stuffed animals
often left in a place of care,
while my heart was constantly misled
by this pain that I still can't bear.
I'm not sure which is worse: not caring or not showing
which part of me you miss the most
trying to rid myself of you just like a stain
you should've just stayed a ghost—it would've spared me from so much pain.
I guess you never cared much about the heaviness you leave behind you
every moment between January and November were building blocks for more lies
all our highest hopes now collecting dust
though it looks as if you no longer seem to mind.