Maybe making you mad wasn’t the best.
I told you to get lost, to leave me alone.
You came back though, and I was blessed
Until you told me that I had a heart made of stone.
I cried for days, knowing you won’t come back;
I screwed it up enough: you’re gone for good.
Years later I saw you, face stamped with a smack,
You didn’t see me then, but there I stood.
You looked hollow, horrendous, half-alive.
I wondered who made you feel that way.
I counted, one…two…three…four…five…
I walked your way, intending to say, “Hey.”
“Next,” the cashier said,
And I was left alone again.