Autobiology; Eleven Hundred Times Four

Is this the land of the broken spines,
this isn't a question, but more of a summary.
Your only friends seemed to die all at once.
Underneath every hollowed out pit of what used to be.
Instead of cutting your losses, you pushed right through,
pissing off every one and their brother.
Inside this room of stable lies and discontinuous memories;
You make your own stories.
No ifs ands or buts.
Romance has no relevance here.
The only love you need
is the love you hold for yourself.
Whoever told you that had their fingers crossed.
Unless you and I have sorries to be said,
Just let it be,
the damage is done.