Leave me, like they all eventually do,
Tell me, is what they say, is it true?
Am I the common denominator, the
Crying wolf in a victim-less crime?
Is that why they all left, left me alone,
Watching my life as it passes the time?

Tell me, is what they say, is it true?
That I'm the reason you've reached the
Tether; cut our relationship through,
Even if I cried, and tried, to do my best
For you
Is that why I'm alone, with no company
But mistakes I need to atone, haunting
Me until I decay to my perforated bone?

Tell me, is what they say, is it true?
That I can't let go of my own demons,
That they are stuck to me like super-glue,
And I never tried to stop them hurting you,
I let them dig their claws into your innocent
Flesh, drag you into the darkness by your legs
So that you could feel it- the pain I were in too.

Tell me, is what they say, is it true?
That I never cared, or even tried to see the real you?
Was my vision so clouded, my eyesight so distorted,
I could not see you, in my own world of cold blues?
Did the storm of my mind consume me so fiercely,
That I never realized, after the cyclone died, you
were always my one and only silver lining?

Tell me, is what they say, is it true?
That my intentions were never genuine,
I never cared, it was all some magical ruse,
I'm the parasite and you were my victim,
The vampire who injected you with poison,
Turning blood black as it reached your heart
Is that why, now I find that we are apart?

You left me, like they always do,
So what they say, well it must be,
It most certainly, has to be true.

Sometimes, I wish I hadn’t just been the backseat of your car,
Intoxicated. My first drunk hook up. My first. Period.
I picture myself being champagne on Valentine’s Day.
I picture myself being you, nervous in the car, holding Starbucks
because you know I love coffee. Sometimes, I picture myself as her,
calling you a stalker and ignoring your calls,
but then I see myself. I call you beautiful,
turn you into poetry, laugh at your bad jokes,
I see myself as I become your drunk Wednesday night
when you’re sad. I see myself as I say no,
I become a “this is not a good idea”
and you a “we’ll deal with the consequences in the morning.”
We laugh because this hurts too much.
You take her out for dinner and I burrow money
for Plan B because you forgot you don’t like condoms
and clearly have no idea how children are made.
I have already named him. He has your curls and
my anxiety. He is smart. Except, I never wanted kids and
you would be a great father. Instead, you tell her
the beach reminds you of her and I cry in a McDonald’s
bathroom with my friend as relief floods through me that
the test comes negative. I stop talking to you,
move forward, meet someone new and before long
see myself becoming you. Because isn’t that the cycle?
Bad men turn good women into bad women who turn
good men into bad men. I’ll set him free so he can hurt
someone like me, and I drink red wine as I read her
poems about him and me.