how can you look at me,
and stare into my soul
with those doe-eyed pupils?
how can you speak to me,
and let those pretty words
roll off your tongue
when you know they’re lies?
and how can you hear yourself
continue to disappoint me,
again and again?
i wonder,
if the feeling of my hands slipping away
affects you the same way it does me,
as you say,
“don’t worry about her”,
when we both know i should.
i should’ve smelled the fire burning
and the scent coming
from our favorite pair of jeans.
the 5 should’ve told me
you were lying to my face all along.
how did i miss the signs?
i can still feel you,
hear you,
see you,
taste you,
smell you,
everywhere.
but you’re with my past worries,
not aware
that you left all my senses still tingling.