Over It



I left you with a number,
six hundred and twenty two.
It means nothing, you insist,
but my distance is your mantra.

You never finished our show,
said you didn’t care for it.
It’s still on your DVR,
in case it gives you one more chance.

You’re collecting brunettes now,
everlasting fixation.
I bleached my hair this morning,
and waved as you wept by my door.

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