What manner of a man is he,
Forgetting all the pain that he
Once caused a lady, thinks he's free
To ask, in no small words, "Love me"?

What manner of a lady, she,
Misreading a man's friendly plea
Asking comfort and company,
Compassion, is laughing freely?

No one's right, and no one's wrong,
She's a coquette, and he's not strong,
He's no fool, and she's no fox,
You can't fit either in a box.

What manner of a person, they
Who beat about the bush all day,
Who beat about the bush, that they,
Lose sight of all the truth?

What manner of a life is this?
She's merely waiting for a kiss,
He's waiting for Nirvana's bliss:
Arrested by hurt, pride, and youth.

I'm going to cut your supply
I'm going to starve that destructive fire from oxygen
The one which burns within you
That desire to hurt
I'm going to sweep your breadcrumbs from my doorstep
Take back your sullen energy
You who delight in sowing destruction
Look into the mirror of your empty eyes and see what's inside your toxic well
Your jealous empty heart contains nothing but deceit and destruction
Your blatant lack of empathy has unveiled your deepest secret
You have showed the world exactly who you are ... and finally we believe you
No more alibis for you
And once a serpent's head has been cut off
It will rage out of control ... but only for so long
Before it is no more
Like one who has been struck with madness
Like an addict without a drug
I am no longer your supply
I will save my empathy for those who deserve it
And I forgive myself for unknowingly enabling you by buying into your games
But most of all ... I'll be good to myself

I'm a standby lover,
with all the duties of a partner;
but without a proper invitation.
I'm your safety net,
a dollar in your pocket,
the also-ran.
You can bench me;
bend me,
ghost me for awhile,
lead with breadcrumbs,
make me smile,
save me for a rainy day,
tuck me up and play away,
And when you've found the one you're after,
Will your heart be filled with love and laughter?

I truly hope so...