she was a woman in every way:

petty, conniving, back-stabbing,
the sort of girl who cared when
somebody wore the same dress,
a person who rants endless and
then complains about those who
voice an opinion, she's had dozens
of men caught in her web (but has
only slept with two of them), she
reveals just enough skin to entice
but never enough to satisfy, she
is smart, she is desirable, and she
thrives on being needed

too many times I'd let myself
get involved with her

she'd spend weeks, winking
and nudging, sending every
signal that this time she was
going to bite back, and that's
why she enjoyed it even more
when she flipped the switch
and went cold forever (at least
until she decided to play with
me again)

she cares if she was the first
to hear that song, it matters
that she doesn't ever really
care, everyone else is worse
than her (in all the ways she
can think of), and time and
time again I've let her get
a hold of me, **** me dry,
and leave me for dead

she's a queen amongst spiders,
a rattlesnake in brazier, god of
hate and deception, ignorant
of her own ignorance, the center
of her own convoluted universe

she's wrong in nearly
every way

but, god,
she turns me on.