On Knotted Knives of Lust and Lies

I pulled my truck into the savings and loan,
set the brake, turned the key, and cried,
cried for the love I could not have,
cried like a man alone.

I cried because I thought he would rescue me
from the loneliness of divorce,
but none of it was real to him,
his care was just a sport.

Both my absent loves cut to the marrow bone,
with knotted knives of lust and lies,
sitting in a bank parking lot
crying by myself, alone.

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