And there's
no girl
in the passenger seat
to keep me
in my lane.

I had no idea
you were tunneling
under the life we had made
churning up ground
and defecating it out
until it all collapsed
in a pile of ****.

How can it be
that after all
you're just another
stereotype.

I see pictures of you
and recoil
in shock
at the sight
of the face
of the girl
you destroyed
(she wasn't real,
she drowned herself
inside of you).

The only thing
harder than my pain
is how I press the letters
writing messages
to you that
I will delete,
unsent.

I wish I was heart-broken
Sad, let-down, hurt.

But what you've done
is grind this heart of mine
to a fine black powder,
and dust
doesn't pump.

And I'm sick
So sick
I'm vomiting up
black powder
and soon, hopefully,
this stupid aching heart,
will die.

How did it feel to watch me,
trusting you,
oblivious
to all your crimes
against us?

You proved everyone right.

You proved me wrong.