I'd feed stray dogs with your lunch

I'd wash after you.
I'd change my furniture's disposition. My everyday schedule, perhaps.

I'd lie and I'd say I have to go. Just to get to see you one more, one last time.

I'd try to block you from my life and stop seeing you for good.

I'd say yes again when you text me 'cause I've got you blocked.

I wouldn't stop drinking wine. Neither would I quit my dance time.

But certainly I'd do bondage and jazz. Listen to a whole lot of jazz. My Diana Krall, not yours.

And probably my Cranberries, not with you: on my own. You go with her, fuck off, just... go.

I'd feed stray dogs, you know... you left me your food, your leftovers, you're done. I'd like to get rid of you and all your stuff, make it useful for once, and then... gone. Disappear from your sight, leave you to have lunch alone. And then you will think of her, not me. I'm not your call.

I'll feed some hunger with your thoughts, with the thought of you; I'll crush my hunger of you now. I'll move on, wake up, shake shake and that's all. Your food will make a dog's day. My night will do well without your smile.