The Tambourine
I've thought about this a lot. I wish I can say that I dislike you, For all the reasons you didn't Choose me. Love me. Want me. I've wanted to hit you until It was enough to make me feel better. To make me not hate myself For losing you. I've thought about this every second. I wish I can say that I've moved on. That you don't effect me anymore. But, every time I get pulled into the memories. Our memories, your lies and my wants. You played me like a tambourine. You were delicate and careful. I thought I was enough to bring you happiness. Then that tambourine grew dust, Lost beneath your bed. I became lost and forgotten. You didn't want me anymore. I became used, old and retired. I no longer played the tone you wanted to hear, Or entertained you the way I used to. A lost, unwanted instrument beneath your bed. I've thought about all the things I could've done different. To keep you interested and to make you feel loved.