I don’t know if I forgive you.
And maybe I don’t want to know.
Maybe our history sits like smoke
That won’t leave my lungs.
I don’t know how I want to die.
But man, smoke inhalation’s not really my jam.
And maybe the tendrils of your apology
Are filled with poison that rip my tears apart.
I don’t know if I want you in my life.
And maybe that’s where I need to be.
Or maybe this is another way you control me,
By offering something so worthless.
And maybe forcing my hand is another act
Of violence done with a smirk on your face.