Love is the lie that keeps us alive

And the very thought of you not loving me,

Was paralyzing not so long ago…

Thinking back… oh how I begged you,

Hot, salty tears seemed to stain my face for days

And you, hundreds of miles away

Tucked away in your bunk… rolling on 18 wheels

Further and further away from us you drive

No responsibility, no one to answer to, no one to hold you accountable or responsible-

For the damage you’ve done, yet again

But as I always have, I cleaned up your trash

It’s difficult to convey how my heart ached for you

And, quite the expense for something so sacred freely given to a man like you…

The embodiment of Peter Pan

“A man like me??” I can hear you say with an arrogance only you are capable of…

Yes, a man like you… with a wondering eye, and a mouth full of lies

Yes, a man like you… who believes himself to be some asphalt cowboy now.

Yes, a man like you… who lacks integrity, and runs from responsibility.

Yes, a man like you… who abandons his wife and children.

Yes, a man like you… who finds fault in everyone around him, but unable to see how ugly his own heart is.

And yes, I could go on….

I often wonder what it is you see when you look at yourself in the mirror.

Do you recognize yourself?

Or do you want to shatter the glass because the man staring back at you is nothing more but a ghost of the man you thought you were?

There was a time when I believed I couldn’t live without you…

And how I hung on to every breath you took…

You were my epitome of perfection…

Even then, I was blind to your obvious infidelities

And deaf to your secrets, screaming into my ears

But I see you now…

You my love…

Were a mean spirited trick, played on me like when I was a child-

You my love…

Were nothing more but smoke and mirrors-

You my love…

Were always a liar-

Always a cheat…

Always a coward…

Always a quitter…

Always a runner…

And never a real man…

I can pick up the pieces of my heart and time will heal the parts of me you broke.

How do you pick up regret though? I can’t imagine that one can.

I suppose it’s something that must be carried

It’s a shame you’ve got a bad back

Regret can feel pretty heavy, that’s what I’ve heard anyway…