This won’t end well, but end it must

For too long I played the martyr to spare your feelings

I know what it’s like to have your heart

Stepped on like so much trash

On the city streets

I know because you walked on mine for so long

While I sat mute for half a lifetime

Finally summoned some courage

Dropping subtle hints that went,

Of course, unheard and unheeded

Maybe they were misinterpreted

So I will state it plainly

You are not who I need

Or want; you don’t “do it” for me

And physical thrills are always fleeting

When there is nothing behind the touch

Your gifts of cold metal and icy stones

Fail to warm my heart

Perhaps, they serve to numb your conscience

I no longer care, at any rate

I refuse to suffer in silence, live

Beneath my privilege or

Remain your doormat

You stand, dumbfounded, only for an instant

But, AH! Now come the tears and apologies

A scene replayed over and over

Throughout the years, I am not moved

Your forced display of emotion

Only strengthens my resolve

This must end, though it won’t end well

©2011 – Andrea J. Shannon