Isn\'t it funny,
that I still look for you, on quiet street corners, in crowded coffee shops, when you discarded me, like a crumpled receipt
Broke me in two,
then asked for a thank you, as if you did me a favor
Ripped me apart, petal by petal,
like a child in a playground, with one question on their lips, but you knew the answer all along.
How cruel,
to play a game,
when you didn\'t share the rules.
You hid the cards, but I found the rulebook, and now it\'s my turn, to ask a question:
How do you sleep?
Knowing you threw away,
the best thing that ever happened to you?