A/N: So yeah. This is a little poem/song thing that I wrote a while ago and just decided to post it now. Why? I don't know. And, if you're going to read it like a song, then in my mind, the regular font is for a girl to sing and the italicized font is for a (gay) boy to sing. Bold is both together. So...yeah...

Boy, you're dead to me

There are several different ways you can break someone's heart
And honey, I must tell you, you've perfected that art
But if you think they'll work on me, you really are naïve
Cause I'm not some silly little girl who wears their heart on her sleeve

You might've been able to break and bruise with all your honesty
About all the lies you've promised and whispered to others so softly
But you must've lost your touch sometime before we met
Because, dear, I must say I haven't fallen for a single lie yet

Yeah, I've met other guys like you
Who can't keep their zippers up or their mouths closed
And yeah, I'm aware those aren't your dirty clothes
Scattered across your room and hidden under your bed
So yeah, I know I wasn't the one going through your head
When you were inhaling the scent of heated flesh and sweaty hair
Since I know I wasn't the one you had pinned beneath you with skin bare

You've got several tricks up your sleeve and down in your pants
Darling, I should know, since we've already done that dance
But if you thought it would leave me craving and begging you more
You must've mistaken me for someone else, since I'm not your dirty little whore

Many times I've tasted that smile you think so highly about
But sweetie, you should know, it was bitter against my mouth
You must've soured your spit with too many secrets
And now it's hard to keep track of them all, isn't it?

Yeah, I've met other guys like you
Who can't keep their tongues or their cocks where they belong
And yeah, I'm aware who was here with you all night long
Panting out your name with fingers clawing tightly at your sheets
So yeah, I know I wasn't the one who made your heart skip a beat
When you let go, writhing in the sound of a moaned name and your exhausted lust
Since I know I wasn't the one you'd felt come with your fingers calloused

And I've got several shiny scars on my chest from being broken
By several silly little boys who think they can fuck with my emotions
But, baby, I have to confess that even though we're through
None of those scars on my chest were inflicted by you