The End Game
Monuments all around
our plot bare ground.
You used to be my best friend.
Now
I’m left with nothing
to shelter me from the wind.
You say times of loss,
the wounds that wont mend.
A lock box for your heart,
no chance the key
will be handed to me again.
New friends abound.
Looks like you been getting around.
Nights out on the town,
no longer home bound.
This I’m truly glad,
your anxiety vary sad.
Although a little mad,
I never got the chance the others have.
Hurt and lonely
I’m paper.
I’ve cut myself to shreds.
Now frantically taping,
the strips of me together again.
Actively seeking the pieces
I can’t seem to mend.
You are origami.
Three dimensional,
your beginning to stand out.
What beautiful folds you have made.
Carefully crafted.
I always knew you’d make that grade.
I don’t feel played.
Though it hurts just the same,
as we play out,
The end game
Copyright © Jay O'Neal | Year Posted 2011
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