A patch in gouged frosting

You were never worth
The lost sleep
Or the ceaseless tearing blame
Your vehement reassurances rang hollow
Your tin can telephone string cut long ago


The words "I'm a good man"
Should never need to leave your lips
"I'm a nice guy" is only a patch in gouged frosting
There's a rose missing
And pink on your chin
Sugar on your breath
But it's stale underneath


Tear your hair in frustration
Contemplate loss in a bottle
I still won't come back
To soothe your self inflicted wounds
Or sop up your sick


You've made a mess
Someone else has always cleaned up
I hate to inform you
That I am not a maid
Though I'd wear the uniform well