Good Intentions

“You’ve always got one foot out the door,” she said.
She was right.
I’ve got nothing but good intentions
But somewhere along they line
I always seem to lose them.
I dig in empty pockets, feeling only lint and cotton.
And then it all goes to hell, always.
Can’t give it up when I should,
I put it off, waiting for divine interventions that don’t exist.
It’s usually too late for help anyway,
Half drunk on the pure adrenaline of new, I let go.
Push off and fly, a fire suddenly ignited.
I’m afraid to look back.
I don’t want to see your face.
I don’t want to watch you watch me let you go.
It’s the same ending every time.
And even now, I tell myself,
“It won’t happen again.”
This time will be different.
I’m another kind of addict,
The kind that gets away with it.
No scars, no marks, just scattered bits of hearts
and sharp shards of pretty memories lying around.
They hit me now and then.
You and me, or he and I,
His shirt, his song, his smile,
They’re all a part of me,
That nasty fabric I’ve woven for myself.
They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions
But this isn’t hell.
This is here. 

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