One phone call it would have taken
To tell me you were mistaken
One phone call for 30 seconds
To never call me for another second
But you chose silence and ghosting
Becoming the torchbearer of hurt hosting
You’d say, I’m not practical
If it comes with ruthlessness, I’m not, for real
No one could beg you to stay
Begging was never my forte
Coz you were never there in the first place
I was a mere mud on your shoe lace
The one that was way too nice.
Whose goodness was lice to your life’s spice.
