Love does not live here anymore

Here is a poem I wrote a couple years back:

Love does not live here anymore.

She packed her bags and broke her lease

Without giving 30 days notice

She was through being unconditional

Unrequited and unappreciated

Her mouth tasted so many tears

It did not know if they were tears of joy

Or tears of sorrow

She tired to change her wardrobe by

Taking her heart off her sleeve

but found,

No matter where she put it,

It always seemed to break

She tried yoga and other forms of meditation

She would listen to love songs

And then avoid love songs

All in the same week

She diagnosed herself with depression and prescribed chocolates

To monitor her condition

Then one day she picked up a pen and paper

And wrote,

“LOVE DOES NOT LIVE HERE ANYMORE”

She packed the pieces of her heart and left.

Love does not live here any more.

But if you see her,

Can you tell her she still owes me last months rent?