shame rips at my face the way you ripped at my clothes,
it was my choice to be there with you,
my voice that tumbled out consent,
but even in the moment I felt so far away.

It was meaningless, alcohol fueled and arbitary.
Is it society or my own ideals that make me feel this way?
That one drunken night with you, can undo all my progress
and send me spiralling back into this emptiness
that I know so well

I don't hate you, I dont like you either,
is that the point?
I hate myself, I hate that I had to scramble from your bed this morning with last nights makeup still muddied on my face,

I hate that the reflection in my mirror this morning cant accept who she's become.