The Old Spot

When you see the old path,
Our stories we made,
The red cherry lipstick,
The gift that you made,
The tattoo of my name,
On your back,
The drawing near your waist.

When you pass the benches,
Between the birch trees,
We swing there together it seems,
You wear that favorite jacket,
The gift I gave on our anniversary,
But now it’s just a broken mirror thing.

When the smell of my perfume,
The flashbacks begin,
The first time our eyes met,
You called me again,
But now you are on our old spot,
Hoping ’til the rope is tied again.

The cry and laughter,
Memories,
All the stories that I see,
Just an empty book without a marking of me,
Call me all you want,
The damage has been done,
Eat it with your filthy mouth,
I’m not going back.

Farewell to you again,
Cutting the ties we began,
Apologies that you have made,
All of them will burn in flames,
To the old spot you are back again,
Calling, shouting my full name,
Maybe you will realize,
That I am not for you to say.