when she lays claim to you
(as only she can-
quickly, quietly, and through you)
she approaches me as an afterthought,
as if the damage done can be repaired
by this self satisfactory spewage,

as if the rising rage can be appeased
by convenient confession,

as if that would make me not want to knock the simpering smile from her ******* face,

as if.

looking at you is my least favorite game.
you smile and nod in my direction and i wonder if you can hear my chest cave in like a condemned house every time i hear you laugh.

was this expected? yes.
but it still aches nonetheless.