You could never make me feel special without
nurturing the narcissist in me, Dragos, but
i thank you for trying anyway.

And I'm sorry i had to do what i did however
you said you always knew it would end
so why are you sad?

Maybe you want a kiss for every time i
wished you away with my cynical
tone maybe you want a parcel of skin
for every condescending look.

You can't build a castle out of sand and
then act surprised when it crumbles
into the sea.

All i know is that you realized
i was imperfect and somehow that further fueled
your desire.

i don't even want to be your friend if
you're going to be lousy about it or if
you decide you'd rather die than
eat from my hand for the remainder of your
teen years.

it wounds me that i've become some kind of god for you, my
friend, and that i cannot
properly receive your offerings.

i hope that you'll hate me, Dragos, when
i'll start falling for others like a wounded bird
that chooses to stay wounded so that it will always be found and tended to by another boy; i hope that you'll hate me when you learn to love another girl, only to realize she isn't half the me you first fell in love with;
i hope you'll hate me,
so it'll justify my cruelty and coldness,
a man's eye for a woman's,
a gold tooth,
for a rotten one.