Ripped and Torn

Ripped and Torn

I wrote you a poem the other day,
but I know it's not good enough.
It'll never be good enough for you.
So I'll rip it up,
and throw it away,
and hope it's never found.
It's easy to smile
and try to move on,
to pretend I can be totally confident.
But I guess we're not meant to be,
and this poem will never be seen.
Ripped and torn,
fragile and beckoning.
My heart lies in shattered pieces at the bottom of your lake.
It feels like I'm sinking
in a car full of rocks,
and I'll never, never make it to the surface again.
And as I watch my precious time tick away,
the torn pieces of your poem float by
reminding me that nothing stays the same.
Nothing stays the same.