And all the scales in your head started tipping
Towards the lovely nothing you've held inside.
This heart throbs like a backwards joyride
That shatters the glass holding you from a clear path.
Your common theme is my near past,
In all its resizing deception.
It will miss you at the reception
But have pictures like it was there,
The color of his eyes
The texture of her hair,
You were a stone casket in a wooden coffin,
Holding plastic silverware.
The scale you left on the bathroom tile
Weighed your make-up meals molded of clay,
It took you and pushed you off the ground,
The springs revolted at your stay.