I put my hands in my pockets and
tell you I don't want to look at you anymore.
You tell me I never saw you anyway.
And usually something like this would make me cry,
today I just want to break your jaw.
Because I hate what you've turned me into and
I hate what we've become.

I was putting on mascara when
you told me it wouldn't help.
I told you no amount of makeup
could cover the scars you have given
so unselfishly
to me.
You told me I was playing the victim.
I told you this wasn't a game
but you're winning.

You turned the page of the magazine
and said, you wished I could be more
like her.
More like the girls with the short
spikey hair that you adore so much.
Then you kissed me and said,
just kidding.
I cried that day, in the shower
when you were on your knees
washing me, having me.

You had no idea.

Water and tears mixed
seemlessly
on my face.
You would have known
had you of kissed me.
You looked up and said I
tasted particularly salty
that day.
I said you have
no idea.