i can't help but
hate this, love it, though,
but hate it like an
itch that can't be reached, want to
fucking die because of it.

(and yes the more i dwell the more
i want to end it, end it all
you'd all be better off without me
and you fucking
know it, you
know it more than you let on, and you,
you wouldn't miss me,
i'm sure,
i'm just her replacement, after all,
so stop lying,
i know you're just
stunning at it, what a skill, you're a master, and
it's probably habitual by now, and i'm sorry but
the point here is
i don't think you'd miss me, notice
i don't think you'd even
care.)

(just move onto the next piece, pretty piece,
piece of artwork, a butterfly to
rip the wings off of and
pin up in your closet for a year
until they wake up and realize
they can't fly anymore.
even if she didn't,
she's perfect, remember?)