People say words are cheap,

yet, I still bought yours.

Words probably stolen from the finest Goodwill,

yet, I let it slide,

because I longed to experience how it feels.

You see, I was too poor to recognize 

a scam camouflaged with

interesting, warm phrases

that froze my heart colder than Alaska ever could,

costing me my warmth for a while.

I was consciously, constantly investing my neatly made piles of hope

into your cheap words and mutual smile,

looking for a tax return.

That’s when I had to learn

that W-2’s don’t apply to this situation. 

No, more of a reason to be patient. 

My heart, like my pockets, vacant.

No longer making efforts to give you more of a value 

than what I had already taken.

Shook by the words that I viewed as absolute 

until I realized you and your words were faking.

Constantly stealing my quarters as I sleep, but now I’ve awaken,

knowing your words are cheap counterfeits, 

I’mma start back saving.

I’mma keep counting it, mounting it 

back up, higher than before 

because I’m done investing anymore of my dime,

I mean, my time 

on you.