Reruns

What is it with you?
There you stand,
with your vacant stare.
I can still smell the lipstick
from the last girl you kissed.
And you say
it didn't mean anything.
Again and again
I hear you apologize . . .
as if you cared . . .
just like you really loved me.
Deja vu . . .
again and again.
What is it with me?

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