The Worst
You’re a real asshole you know that? You talk, joke, flirt, and flatter, fill me with hope and happiness only to let me down. You’re just the fucking worst. I swear. You’ve tainted all the things I love. Why’d you have to be a Smiths fan? Huh? can you answer me that. I can never listen to “Still Ill” again without physically and emotionally feeling ill. You loved all the things I love and in doing so you’ve ruined them for me. My favorite films, lyrics, secret places, all things I shared with you, things that once filled me with pure joy, and noor, now bring me nothing but knots of regret in my stomach. I hear the refrain of “This Charming Man,” and it’s as if the words are a fist, wrapping its long crusty fingers around my heart and squeezing all the life out of it, like a Jack La Lane juicer from those out dated late night infomercials. You’ve withered my spirit, drained all the life out of it like a video app to an Iphone. Before my heart was full of you in a romanticized way, now my heart is just full of you, ripping at the sutures, bloated, morbidly obese, heavy and FULL OF YOU. . Words can no longer express my disdain for you, only onomatopoeias in the form of loud carnal sighs, and gasps of disappointment and frustration! You’re stupid and I hate you, and yes I understand how immature that sounds, but so what. You’re making it impossible to get over you, and I’m entitled to a little immaturity in a situation such as this. My ears will no longer perk up when I hear your name spoken by someone, in fact I won’t even tolerate listening to your name being spoken. John Doe? who’s he? I haven’t a freaking clue.
