Though he built a good facade.
The man who used to used to brush my hair
And make me who I’m not.
The man who worked so hard to me,
But never on himself.
He even used to read me books,
But what he needed was self-help.
I remember he would lift me up,
Off that old green la-Z-boy
I wanted that to last my life
Just like he said it would.
But life doesn’t last a lifetime
When each day is borrowed time
Now that I’m too old for him
I wish only for my demise.
I hope his new Girl is happier, prettier, healthier than I,
And I hope that this man sticks around
Lest another short-term lease
Leaves her buried in the ground.
--Chloe M., Adult