Two shattered goodbyes later
where the word was never really said.
Piles of boxes by the door,
a strong drink and a cigarette,
A yearning summer wind,
scattering torn-up rose petals;
that first bouquet you ever bought me
thrown to the wind like
words from love letters
you never wrote.
I stood on this same damn street
watching yet another no-good soul
leave my life
and I just wanted
to burn the whole place down.
To hell if I will stick around,
to be another haunted gypsy,
flashbacks in fragments
spinning drunken circles,
getting high just to forget.
Pass over that stash
and pour another rum
in another pretty shot glass.
If I don’t ever escape these streets
I fear the bottle will
get the best of me
because love sure as hell
never will.
You’ll want me back
someday.
You’ll lie awake needing me
tonight.
You’ll regret running to her
after all.
You’ll be haunted by the woman
who loved you.
You’ll realize that destroying me
only left you desolate.
You’ll want me back
today.
And I,
I’ll be burning every wedding photo.
Like ashes on the wind,
beginning again,
I’ll emerge once more,
a gypsy of patchwork and peace symbols.
I’ll rock on,
long after you’re gone.
I’ll find a glimpse of me
down the highway
and next time you see your gypsy
you’ll be merely a memory,
somewhere in the back of my mind.
You’re gonna want me back,
yet I’ll be only a brief breath
of wind on your skin
sending a shudder down your back,
raining down the ashes
of all that we were.
You’ll finally know how it feels
when goodbye isn’t said;
when it’s just a slamming door
and an empty room,
when you’re the one
left long behind.
