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Death of a Romantic
You don’t know any better
when you’re first married at three
in a plastic princess dress
beneath an old oak tree
but then fifteen years later
it all comes crashing down
your mother asks what’s happened
you reply with nothing but a frown
what else is there to say?
a hundredth of your life
swiftly thrown away
on a boy with less love in his heart
than he has hours on GTA?
and every time
we’d be alone
my eyes would water
and I’d turn to stone?
I used to think hell would freeze over
before I’d lose my heart
but in this race of misery
I seem to have a head start
but then You come along
with a soul golden and untouched
and I don’t think I’m lying
when I say I like you very much
but how long will it be
before you, too, grow cold?
I could wait forever
but forever just gets old.
Copyright ©
Bailey Butterfield
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