I thought that I was done with you
I thought I’d used you to the last drop
Thrown away the tiny vial that you came in
Burned the bristles of the hard brush
I’d wielded to make something of you
To give you definition, a sense of purpose
But you show up once more fumbling
At my doorstep with your boring existence
And feeble attempts to speak my tongue
When we both know you have no ear for it
Leave before you realize your error
What you thought to be a warm welcome
Was just me asking you to hold the door open
For me to walk out in a way that only I can
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