Blowing kisses to the Carolina's,
I have a migraine that won't give.
I thought if I took my body
955 miles away from your body,
I'd lose interest in the contents of your soul,
But I was wrong again.
It feels like I'm wrong all of the time lately.

And I keep telling boys with pretty eyes
and traditional tattoos that
I love them,
and I wanna believe that I do,
that I'm even capable of loving
any man that isn't you,
but somewhere in the back
of my skull,
hidden under the debris
of every foundation I tried
to build over the memory
of your chest,
there is a sink hole
that I keep pushing them into.

I kissed a boy with black grease
on his finger tips, tan skin,
and big brown eyes.
For a moment I thought
I wouldn't mind
taking care of him.

But I woke up in the middle
of the night,
his arm slung over my rib cage,
his dreaming breath against my neck,

And I didn't wonder what
the pictures behind his eyelids looked like
or what his voice sounds like first thing
in the morning when there is still a bit
of sleep caught in his throat.

I just squirmed out from under his touch,
rolled over to face a white wall,
and wondered if you were lying on your back
starring into your ceiling,
Or eating chicken wings at
the foot of your bed.
I smiled to myself for a second
imagining you smoking
a blunt in the driver's seat of your
beat up SUV,
looking into the stars longingly.

And then I swung my feet
onto his unfamiliar vinyl floor
and slipped into a bathroom
down the hall.
Splashing cold water against
my flush skin
to shock the pain
out of my forehead.
Shivering to the image
of myself staring back at me
in a bathroom that I didn't recognize,
I wondered if I'd ever
get your fingers out of my spine

I hate who I am
when I'm pretending
not to miss you

But I hate who I am
but I hate who I am
I hate who I am

And I miss you
I really really
miss you