There are no greeting cards for you and me

If there were, they might say

“Thinking of you, though I thought I gave that up a while ago”

Or

“I still wince when you say things I wish were about me”

There is no balm for a heart this raw

Nor do the fantasies you’re involved in ever end

And it stings singing praises I don’t mean

So I’ll just avoid the issue altogether

Somethings are better left unsaid