i
swear to god;
you don't know
a fucking thing
and i'm enthralled by
your devastation
because you treat me like
the dirt on your shoes
((i like to be petty))
i saw you planning it
all along
everything that
made me feel
one-ounce-good-about-myself
you turned into a fucking competition
sorry, but i don't compete for affection
i don't fucking have to.
((not like you))
god, and you ring me up
and wonder why
i can't look at you the next day.
always telling me
that you
know more than i ever will
so what?
so what?
so what?
so what?
so what?
so what?
...
[act two]
& i still swear to
god; you're all fucking
infuriating me tonight.
you
with the artless eyes.
and you,
with the vulgar smile.
you,
with your so-called wisdom.
and you
with your
emulation,
emulation,
emulation.
it's an insult to my eyesight
i couldn't make a rhythm better
than my anger on your heartstrings
i'm so sick of the paranoia
but
i'm already imbued
and i've noticed
you have a hint of it on
your neck too
i couldn't make this
anymore significant;
your innovation
is starting
to scare me.
maybe because i've seen it
someplace else?
...
maybe it was under my pillow?
the place where you
stole my shapeless notions
and didn't look back.
no, you were never one for retrospect