This is in response to my original poem To London.
You said you'd change.
You promised me.
We talked it over,
talked it through, talked it out.
I thought we could work through it, and be happy again.
But you went back on your word.
Now, the thought of being in your company
sickens me so much
I really think I want to leave you.
My thoughts are occupied with walking away;
walking to the coast and not looking back.
It's not the same; I'm not a teenager anymore,
dazzled by your lights.
You're not the hero I thought you were.
Why was I so impressed with you?
ranted and raved,
and hollered your greatness through
megaphones and cymbals,
and I was hypnotised.
Then I grew up.
Work got in the way of us.
Did I become jaded? You're certainly ok.
You're at your best,
your peak; thriving.
We just want other things, and right now,
I do not want you.
You don't need me.
I need distance, space;
air of my own.
I know you won't change,
so this is my honesty.
This just isn't right; you're not for me.