i look at your picture and think
how i would rather die than meet your eye
when i confess that i'm in love,have been in love,
have backed down from love to try and keep it.
Ion. the way out the door tonight
will either be as humiliated as i've ever been
drowning like a stupid kid in codependent sins,
or unabashed and childlishly elevated by my honesty.
stalemate. no one leaves a winner tonight.
you can pretend you knew the ending all along
but i refuse to believe you.
it was all too eloquently chaotic, too predictably so
we never would have guessed as little of ourselves
as we've shown here tonight.
i was picturing us having sex while we were having a fight
but not the make kind or the break-up kind
the shut-the -fuck-up-and-fuck-me kind
and ugly, dispassionate, pleasureless kind
the let's-do-this-and-get-it-the-fuck-over-with-fuck
fuck fuck fuck. Who does this?
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