You. Who do
You think
You are?
You’re really not important
You know.
You’re pretty small so far.

I’m sorry…
I thought that the argument
I initiated had made

You realise that

I hate

You.

I’m wrapping

Your Christmas present.
You’ll hate it

I know, but
I bought it for peace,
I chose it for love.
I’m not the kind of person that

You seem to think

I am.
I hate: dresses and rings and
delicate things.
I’m broken really and
I hate to fight.
I love the night.

You,
You self-important, self-obsessing…
You bitch!
You aren’t

Her.
She understood me.
She understood rape.
She understood alcoholism.
She cared.

You’re no replacement.
You can’t manipulate

Me.
I’m not strong enough for this teenage bullshit.
I know court cases better than friendship.
I’ve met murder more than childish gossip.
I’ve been closer to a paedophile, bitch, than
I am right now to you!

So fuck the structure!
Fuck the art!
I’m sick of your pathetic,
Selfish,
Hypocritical,
Attention-seeking
Crap.

Goodbye.