A russian revolution of its own

Two Septembers ago, and by that I mean not last year but the one before,
You really didn't want to know. And I'm sorry to admit I was having trouble
letting go. As for all the phone calls, I just know you heard my voice and put the phone down.
But that's quite alright; I got the chance to hear you breathe. And for once it wasn't on top of me with sweat dripping down your face. I'm not sure whether you thought it was some kind of race, but it never felt that way to me.
So can you see why trying to trust you again feels like trying to dig a tunnel with your broken promises as my spade? A task that seems comparatively microscopic.
But you were never one for empathy and I don't expect a sudden reform. We're not talking Russian revolutions, let's not get out of hand. We're only dots on the scale that you so desperately wanted to climb. I know I was your sacrifice last time.
I'd like to lie and say I'm not going to be your failsafe, I'm not going to wait around for the second your dreams don't go to plan. But I'd only be lying to myself.
So as you feed me every single compliment as if it's some form of reconciliation, I pretend I don't want a settlement. You could never know me better as you look into my eyes and laugh off the silly, silly lie.
Somehow I think that's the point.