i politely decline
your polite invitation
which the twentieth text message
is making a tad less polite

we might have once dared to stand,
hand in hand, at a deserted train station
but that means nothing now that
i filled your heart full of venomous spite

i'm the fat-free peanut butter
for the rumbling sadness in your obese heart
i'm the diseased rat dying loudly in the gutter
for your inner caring mother that doesn't know where to start