I was really bored and thought of writing you this poem about being a jerk.

It's a shame.
I had just gotten better at pretending I dreamt of you
The night before or the day after
I would have to force myself to send for you

Imagine.
I even learnt how to hold your name
on the tip of my twisted tongue,
But only just long enough to convince myself
That it still sounded the same
(Tell me, Was I wrong?)

But now,
I'm a much better liar (and BSer) than you left me
Bold enough to paint this illusion
with invisible brush strokes
a prog-art pantomime called 'The intrusion
Of a stolen, not lost soul!'
For you I subtitled it 'The day you left me'

You left me?
Or was it the other way round?
You could reverse time and freeze frames
But be cautious not to unmute the sound
So we can both pretend the words we mouth
Are not in vain.

Ah!
I impress myself with this self sacrifice
You could call me a jerk (but never a heart-breaker.
Don't compare me to a man on a rampage,
For I have much better aim).
See, I only let you burn the bridges
'cause one of us had to
No understudy could earn such reviews
It may be news to you
But with the years of training I've had
I'm better suited for playing the victim

So.
I hope you find this and file it
Somewhere between akward silences,
The neighbours childrens shoe sizes,
And other peoples favourite songs

The end.
Or in your own words, "It's over"
(And the best part of it for me was writing this poem)
I really am a jerk.
(And I'll feel much better if someone else knew it)
Here's to wishing I'll get a second chance to prove it.