The audit of your heart, it’s overdue,
I’ve checked the compliance of the things you do.
You claim a love that’s built to last for years,
Yet your KPIs are mostly salted tears.
I’ve indexed every promise that you made,
And watched the interest rate begin to fade.
Oh, my love, a masterclass in risk,
You keep the wreckage beautifully brisk.
A failure mode that’s artfully designed,
To leave the best of me so far behind.
I’m drafting up a formal, final brief,
To categorize this elegant, cold grief.
You talk of synergy and shared design,
But keep the ledger strictly yours, not mine.
The variance is wide, the margin’s thin,
I’m searching for the space where I fit in.
Your casual excuses are so well-refined,
A Six Sigma standard for the unkind.
Is it efficiency, this way you pull away?
To optimize the silence of the day?
I’ve run the data through a hundred times,
To justify the rhythm of these crimes.
But even in the logic of the fall,
I find I haven't closed the file at all.
So here’s the summary, the final line:
Your love is flawed, and yet, somehow divine.
I’ll keep the draft, the errors and the rust,
And file us under "Inevitably dust."
I’ve checked the compliance of the things you do.
You claim a love that’s built to last for years,
Yet your KPIs are mostly salted tears.
I’ve indexed every promise that you made,
And watched the interest rate begin to fade.
Oh, my love, a masterclass in risk,
You keep the wreckage beautifully brisk.
A failure mode that’s artfully designed,
To leave the best of me so far behind.
I’m drafting up a formal, final brief,
To categorize this elegant, cold grief.
You talk of synergy and shared design,
But keep the ledger strictly yours, not mine.
The variance is wide, the margin’s thin,
I’m searching for the space where I fit in.
Your casual excuses are so well-refined,
A Six Sigma standard for the unkind.
Is it efficiency, this way you pull away?
To optimize the silence of the day?
I’ve run the data through a hundred times,
To justify the rhythm of these crimes.
But even in the logic of the fall,
I find I haven't closed the file at all.
So here’s the summary, the final line:
Your love is flawed, and yet, somehow divine.
I’ll keep the draft, the errors and the rust,
And file us under "Inevitably dust."
*****
NOTE:
This is a work I did stem from an idea and intentionally written to be a song lyrics.
I wrote this on 2026-May-23 in the City of Imus, Cavite, Philippines
****
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