told him not anymore
once, twice, three times
more than I can count
he doesn’t want to hear that
because underneath his floral hell
everything is satanic
still thinks I’m his
I don’t have a flip to switch
hit me with those eyes
that guilty, melancholy stare
saying “I know I did it but it’s your fault”
he knows he’s scraping the bottom
I wanted to go back, almost
considered that wrapper
on the toiletseat
almost forgot about her
but I couldn’t
so how could he?
go on, cynical pessimist
go on and take it all