I am walking out of my house,
and I am finally taking out the trash.
All the dirt washes from my hands,
But these stains won't come out.
I scrubbed them until my hands bleed.
Each day it nags at me,
and this day I can't take it anymore.
I love these clothes,
but I hate all of the holes.
Year after year they get old,
and the stitches don't hold.
I wish I could just throw them away,
but I have a hard time letting go.
I gave up my heart, and my soul,
but nobody really knows.
You can see the damage they have taken,
but these feelings I am not faking.
It's as if my heart is the shelve,
and the smell reminds me of you,
and all of the things we used to do.
I am walking out of my house,
and I am taking out the trash,
but it's time this garbage finally goes out.
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