I was prompted to fix your malfunctioning game console.
Fine.
“Fixing” this thing included disecting the box, killing the roaches, cleaning up the bug shit, and reassembling.
…and, yes, I did scream like a girl when I opened the fucker up.
I just saved you a lot of money.
Invest in an exterminator.
I don’t know how to find you anymore, and that’s probably for the best.
Sometimes I still think about you, but it’s not consumptive anymore.
I confused Tolstoy with Dostoevsky last night and lost a bet
You work harder than I do, but you haven’t brushed your teeth in at least three days.
I used to knock on a stranger’s door every day
several times a day
until she didn’t feel like a stranger anymore
even though she never answered.
It was a compulsion.
There are still half naked pictures of you here from ten years ago
frozen in pixels.
We’re getting so old now.
I don’t wake up wishing you were someone else.
After I drop you off, I want to go back to sleep,
but I can’t.
Sometimes, I look at the $550 painting on the wall by the front door, and I remember the night I bought it from a fidgety former classmate.
Last night, while pulling sequins off of fabric to make a clear passage for a line of thread, I briefly thought I might be something like happy.
Rudy, the new bird, came down to see what I was doing.
I adopted him, because I thought I could help him with his feather plucking habit.
He’s a few years younger than me.
You’re getting your shit together, and I should do the same.
I had to forcibly remove you from this house.
Every weekend.
Every little bit of money.
Every fucking chance you got…
I’m not wrong.
I’m sorry, and I feel like shit, but I’m not wrong.
You tell me that I’m the most responsible person you have ever met in your entire life.
You tell me that I’m the best thing that has ever happened to you and that I’m out of your league.
You owe me everything.
I just want you to be quiet.
Shut up, and you can stay.
Yesterday, you told me that I ruined the man across the street.
And
Maybe I did.
That poor bastard thought…what you think.
That I’m something amazing.
He’s gained a lot of weight and given up on his appearance all together now, you told me.
You’re worried about his daughter.
You said it’s because he considered me his last chance.
For what?
You still feel like you won something.
He acts like he lost something.
I’m not even half here for you, and I never even gave the impression that I was there for him.
You’re both wrong.
I feel bad for the guy regardless of whether I had anything to do with his downfall, but I feel worse about what I’ve done to you…because I know you love me.
I know you love me, and as much as I want to, I can’t say the same shit to you that someone I really loved had to tell me.
I just need to you be quiet right now.
I have a managerial position now
and a significant other.
I have a house
and a car title in my own name.
I have withdrawn from therapy
and feel more alone than ever.
The writing left a long time ago
with you.
She has track marks running up and down both arms
and she’s proud of them.
You’re fucking a 50-year-old gutter whore
and think you’re King Shit.
Unfortunately, I know you’re thinking about me.
I might be the only one here she hasn’t slept with already.
He’s been stalking my every move
since the day I showed up.
You’re a shitty fucking drunk
and if you can’t learn to hold your liquor
I recommend you stick with beer.
I’m confident I’m the only cunt here
who hasn’t felt the burn of cheap drugs
or gonorrhea.
Yes, I’m fucking better than you.
Damn right I am.
Hell yeah, I’m fucking judging you.
You bring this shit into my house.
You threaten my safety.
You want to fuck away your life that’s fine, but you’re not fucking up mine.
Are you having a good time now that my room has become locked storage, and I sleep in the fucking woods?
Like I give a damn.
My lease is finally up this month.
I’m back to collect my things and get the fuck out.
That’s it.
That’s all.
Stay the fuck away from me.
