Led me to be victimless,
Every night it would grip him less,
Causing him to forget the address.
Now I am here staring out the circular windows,
Experiencing your words of hurtful innuendos,
Panic on the floor from my tiptoes,
Seeing you stare at what once were meadows.
At what once was love, and adoration,
Your constant devotion was your donation,
To the undeserving, and I who were stricken with fascination,
Currently beneath, and cast onto your portion of isolation.
You won’t be remembered,
As well as dismembered,
Or ever feel encumbered.
You’ll be the tragedy that once wondered.