I left my self control on the altar of opportunity.

My pragmatism is getting to be a hindrance.

Any port in this eternal shitstorm.

I just wasn't finished loving you.

You left before I even had the time to.

And that makes me feel a little unfortunate.

Cannibalising my vestigial positivity.

Terrified of my next indiscretion.

Seeing you with everyone else but me.

After losing what's left of my sanity.

A series of deleted text messages.

In it's place I gained unwanted revelation.

Learned a lesson in between the sheets.

There are no victors in the venutian struggle.

Bruises on your dirty scabbed knees.

Even less in the throes of martial conquest.

That lingering smell of lust and regret.

All I have left is a spoonful of pride.

A mouthful of five dollar words.

More foreign toxins in my head.

Most folks call them memories.

But to me they are just cancer.

And you couldn't care less.