our story must have started out cold, frigid,

train seat plastic on december saturday mornings when i

went to work and you didn't call again. i felt hot for the first

times with you but afterwards i was austere, sterile,

waxed hospital floors when your boy got stabbed and i slept safe

and sound. cigarette smoke poisons my throat and i choked

too much but never on you (inferiority complexes happen

for a reason).

and i stay faithful to my boyfriend and i've never called you back

but i've got a new toy now and love's falling apart like your air

conditioning system. i could tell you over and over again that

you're special, this is it:

but it's just not true. i'm like melted snow,

and you can see all my flaws spilled over the dirty sidewalk,

sin staining asphalt a darker black, but i drink white down like innocence.