Jenny stopped loving John today.
Lies discovered showed her the way.
John stopped loving Jenny, who knows when.
He’d changed his mind before, and now again.
There was always a reason, same as his guitars
(not the right one), the right bank, or even the right car.
Jenny cried for intimacy, a loving touch, a tender kiss.
John would not give that to her, so all she could do was reminisce.
John cried for dreams unfulfilled and a road not taken.
Jenny tried to help, her faith in him still unshaken.
Jenny wrote poems, taking half of the blame while praising his glory.
John went on the road with barely a word and a two percent story.
John broke her heart the day he walked out the door;
her heart was healing, getting ready to soar.
Then John issued commands, built himself a high wall.
If she approached sentries posted would sound the call.
From his castle John reigned and all had to abide.
For he had a new damsel to save at his side.
She should have known better, she realizes now.
The signs were all there but she missed them somehow.
Ten years lived in a sort of alcoholic haze, he claims.
Casting shadows on her memories, now eclipsed by pain.
He’s looking for intimacy elsewhere these days,
but there’s no doubt in her mind he hasn’t changed his ways.
Jenny wants to warn the new damsel, or shout it from every rooftop:
if he lied to Jenny, and others before her, he’s not going to stop.
Jenny stopped loving him today.
And in the end she is okay.