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.