I like to tell stories
of other people
when I no longer feel
interesting

I like my men
with longer hair
& he loves his women
with shorter skirts

sit by the pool
cuddle your glass of scotch
until you feel bold
enough to slip right in

or take ***** shots with me
in the middle of the street
'cause there isn't anyone driving
for miles
in this small and quiet
town

he's a lot kinder to his liquor
I ignore mine for a time
then I come crawling back
crying
for just a sweet taste
of what its like to forget
who he was

oh, how I'd love to
go back
& drink his pain
red eyes at my eleven o' clock
doorstep
red eyes on the tile floor
by the pop machine
defeated
almost invisible

speak up, sweetheart
no one can understand you
when you think out loud

he never understood
how she could give her love
to another man
I never understood
why he forgot she ever
did that

they got married in a
not so distant fever
I reacquainted myself with
my shower rug
a giant bottle of wine
& a handful of pills

I fake gag when they kiss

God, I'm glad she don't
come around here
any more
but I always dread
seeing him at the door again
when I smile
& he doesn't smile back

you'd think I'd be over this
by now
but the cards never add up
& he always hits on me
when he's drunk

there's just something about the
way our stars aligned
our entire lives


we always meet in the middle
again
shaking hands and hugging
for too long