From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
You were not fucking civil.
Your hands are the unclean ones,
I washed the poison off of mine when I told you we could be no longer.
I told you.
Yet you keep writing about me.
Talking about me.
I tried to be fucking civil.
Under love's heavy burden do I sink.
I will not sink.
You are the one holding the anchor.
Yet you blame me for drowning.
This was a love I prayed on for two years of my life,
and if you with patient ears attend,
the love I will never again try to mend.