It's the tile walls. Hot
water
or
the 3AM dark room
again. The words
spill out, angry
but silent. A thousand things
to never get said. I
imagine
******* your brother again,
imagine
maybe,
you getting furious - hurt, even -
just anything. Showing
any emotion, any shred
of meaning. And I would
scream
"Don't!"
Don't act like I was anything to you.
Any more than an easy ride.
Just a blonde to
love buzz for
when you were high. Your *******
bunny. Just a hopalong.
Someone easy to rely on.

Did it **** you? When I
kissed David?
Well, *******.
I rotted inside, empty for a year.
And you - you tried to tell me you had
feelings. Feelings?
As if you weren't ice on the inside.

I've cried so many times, and you
always got angry when I thought
you were lying.
But be honest, for once,
nothing you ever said was true.
You're a bonafide
con artist. And I wasted 3 years
(nearly)
of my life on you.

I should have never gone back.
Should have never gone back.