A Dime a Dozen

there are many things I want to say to her,

I want to tell her I am sorry,

for the pain I have put her through,

time after time,

for the love I have thrown away,

again and again,

for the life I stole from her so

many years ago;

so many things;

but I have said them all before,

only to rip her heart out and

smash it on the stone

cold ground;

so I don’t;

I always mean every word I say,

at the moment it is said,

but then the hunger returns,

the lies begin and she is left

somewhere in the middle,

holding on to broken promises

and shattered dreams,

as I try to pick up all the pieces and

put them back together again;

before it is too late;

there are many things

I want to say to you baby,

but I know I never will,

because words are a

dime a dozen,

and with me,

they aren’t worth the paper

they are written on.

.

.