You left me, standing on the corner of Forever St. and Forgotten Avenue,
Promising to return with champagne and roses and promises.
Laughter isn’t enough to fix this pain,
even though it is echoing through this dank house.
There aren’t enough rainbow colored pills,
to fix my rose-colored-glasses view of you.
I might just die, thinking of you in a thousand ways.
Artificial stars are pasted unto painted clouds,
over dusty waves, and a barely floating boat,
what a perfect fantasy.
Sweat sticking to my skin like a coat of polish,
you tend to make everything seem perfect,
and I cannot feel sad watching you watching me,
watching life pass by like cars on a freeway.
Too late, they’re gone.
