Not For You

If I don't call anymore, My texts lack the proper sough, Perhaps with you I'm a bore. The hand writing on the wall; I'm tired of feeling sore. If I'm dwindling in call, My texts are not inspired by a fall, Perhaps the mountain is becoming tall. The hand writing on the wall; The first verse of this poem grows sure. But hey you Appreciating this piece as art, The handwriting here hold no heart And this poem isn't for you.