The novelty has gone,
you used to read
every line that I spun.
Now you have more
important things to do
which don’t involve me
or any of our old crew.
You used to tell me
what you thought
even if it meant criticising
something I wrote.
The mask that you
wore has slipped
and now you don’t care
that my heart has been ripped.
Too long you have spent
dancing to my beat,
no longer are you
going to take a backseat.
One life is all that we have
and you’re not going
to waste what’s left
on someone that had
you feeling oppressed.
The 50 year old poet 