I’m fighting the urge to call you even though I know if I do, you’ll just ignore it

Because it’s me calling.

I want to brag about the multiple women I have slept with just to prove to you,

That all of your bullshit has evaporated from my mind,

In reality it’s all just fantasies and internet porn.

I want it to eat at you that things have improved on my end.

Like twins I want it to burn you like acid reflux when I ingest the deliciousness that is her spit.

I want it to sting when I prick my finger on a fucking thorn except,

When I do I can’t help but vomit up the amount of tequila that you drank from the night before.

Oftentimes, I pass by the mirror and see you on the other side,

Modeling,

Skimpy lingerie for some no-testicle having piece of trash that doesn’t even deserve you.

I want you to feel how bad it was to think, to breathe, hell to feel.

I want you to forever picture what could’ve been and not what the hell is, I want you to remember those times you talked to me about your relationship troubles,

All the sexual things you would tell me about the two of you and how my screwed up mentality would make the scenario that much more realistic.

I want you to know about these things because

When it was just the two of us, it was everything to me,

But now it’s just nothing to you…