I hold my grudges like poetry,
Because I like the way it tastes when I look at you.
My grandmother tried to teach me, forgive and forget.
I pulled the past out of her dead, clawed hands.
I imagine you, held down by the weight of my frustration
Crumbling as I pile one more fault, another complaint

If it helps, I don’t go easy on myself, either
And you wouldn’t know it anymore than you know
How much I’d like to see you cry.

At the end of all things, it won’t matter
So why does it feel so good right now,
Pretend playing the day I can mimic your
Silken, lion’s smile
And tell you exactly where in hell you can go.