'ere right, you.

You, you are the same bubble of existence
who floated betwixt my heart and head,
mocking the just naivety that my ticker did possess.
Your smile it still haunts your pretty little face,
in the same way it once did, but my sweet
soul does deduce that feeble be your attempt.
You do hold your limbs the very same with
courteous contempt to all of which is logical;
You never did believe you were made for here.
Your words they melt from your feverish passion
that lies within, dripping, oozing the promises
of tomorrow, of which even you are uncertain.
You, you plundered a touch of lips; she did not
belong to you, not anymore, you let her go
and whispered away your woe - remember?
Your magic seduces her, enchants her so,
with such intense embrace that she drowns
in denial; see how she alters the pronouns?
You made her this way, O'you made her this way,
with your fluctuating suffixes that conjured
a spell to chain her weary eyes to yesterday.
You, you cannot feign within your gaze as, yes,
your eyes deceive the empathy of your sultry
prose. Steal your sorrys from my ears.
You, yes you, you know just as well as I do
that you cannot be truly sorry, truly sorry,
as if you were truly sorry, you wouldn't do it again.