"If I was drizzle, then she was a hurricane."
A hurricane that swept you off your feet and pumbled you to the ground,
knocked your knees in and lost the little game we used to play.
We used to play.
Play rhyming games with our tongues tied in alliteration and metaphors.
Back and forth and tossing and turning
Touching and biting and hitting and yelling
Kissing and healing and wishing.
I don't remember that game

The carbon copy told me he'd box my ears in if I didn't shut my mouth
His threat is concise
But I disregarded it entirely
Now I'm cockeyed
And entirely pumbled

Go on
Keep on dropping names
Insinuate that she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth
We need another you like we need a hole in each of our heads

Show me precisely where you gave it to her good
Show me the love stains on the bed sheets
We're you shooting blanks?
I think so

I'm done with this guy and all this idle blathering and his besmirching of the reputations of people he doesn't even know