The Worst Dream

Well I had that damn dream again.

The one where you come back.

You show up at my house, 

dressed to the nines with roses in your hand.

You say sorry for all the terrible things you did to me, 

and how you wished you had talked it through.

You look into my eyes and tell me you are different.

You no longer feel the need to lie, 

“Weed is in the past, I swear I’m not that guy.”

You remind me of all the “good times”

saying that we can have plenty more

and now that you know what you want

maybe I could come to dinner more

or better yet eat my mother’s cooking,

because you know that drove her insane.

You want me to give you another chance,

because there’s no other girl.

You can’t see yourself with anyone else

and I’m always on your mind.

You told me you still loved me,

and you called me out for still loving you.

My eyes dilate and start to swell,

while your hands start to shake.

As the moment passes you grab my face and tell me how much you care,

“…we should be together,"

and with that I recieve a kiss.

I don’t really know what was worse,

the fact I had that damn dream again 

or the fact I wish it was true.