For Her

This one is for her.
This one is for the girl in the spring, staring numbly out the window as the world came back to life,
wondering how many left turns it takes to make something right.
This one is for every hopeful thought she shot down,
and for every conviction that she beat into submission.
It's for every blackout curtain she closed, desperate to keep out the light.
For the latest of nights, when dawn came too soon,
And it felt like bleeding out just to leave her room.
She's not the one I'm proud of, she's not the one who made it easy.
The long drives, the false hope, the teasing,
Pouring lies like fountain soda,
Spirit parched for anything of worth.
Forgiving of nothing,
And deserving no forgiveness,
There is no crime if there's no witness.

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