In fashion just a year ago, now out of vogue,
Cleared out to make some room
For yet another heartbreak in the making.
The inventory of now antiquated tenderness
Still cluttering the shelves, growing stale. For sale
To whomever should pay the highest price for these sad
Wilted feelings of last summer, with a price tag of
A card still (bitterly) addressed to someone else.
Our once first person plural splintered,
Split up, wrapped individually and sold,
Cushioned by cynicism against all future damage.
Fashion, like history, repeats itself.
So I expect that soon enough the shelves will fill
With new inventory that will not hesitate
To break my heart in some new-fashioned
Yet such familiar way.