Can I Be Brutally Honest?

There’s something stupid in the way you smile,
and I find that despite all the miles
between me and you, and the piles of letters,
you’re the only one I don’t know any better.

You’ve missed a million important days.
I’ve thought of how to say it, in a thousand ways
that ten fucking quid doesn’t really make up for
ten years of you slamming that door.

"To be facetious, that’s a thousand pennies, less than one for every day, since we parted ways."

Less than one for every day
I’ve spent since you walked away
pretending to understand you.
You say you love me, I don’t think that's true.

There’s no rhyme or reason or metaphor
for how I felt when you knocked me to the floor.
I don’t care about your new kid or family,
I just wish you’d see what you did to me.

There’s something stupid in the way you are,
and there’s something stupid in how I go so far,
push so hard, to understand what’s in your mind.
I’m nothing but an aborted son, to leave behind.

To be honest, a thousand pennies in my account
hardly a entirely substantial amount.
That won’t even cover the bus fee,
For you to come and see me.