Generic

Faint image of a heart 
On a wood beam with crusted dust 
And peeling paint, once proud. 
I still see your image 
As I wish I could talk to you 
Until I remember 
How you fucked me over 
Reducing me to shards 
Broken from that hateful glass 
That declared you most fair. 
And now I watch you wither 
And my flower now blooms 
For bees that once beheld your majesty. 
Your limp wrist in fat jeans 
And an archaic hair cut 
Leaves you in despair of hatred 
As you have lost your audience. 
I’m tempted to send you a free pass 
To see the show your old fans praise 
And deem as better than the original.

Fugitive