These are the prom ises I’ve kept that are broken.
I read the receipts before you checked out.
No doubts, but you’re carded
for the bouts with the blue can in your hand.
The time can’t be bought back.
It’s on the top shelf,
but it’s not like you could reach it anyway,
with the bottles weighing yourself
and your vegetable of a mind down.
Another one I found. Feels kind of fresh.
What happened to us being friends?
Were we ever friends, even then?
I doubt it, but when you lead me on,
it makes me bleed and clot
when the infected gash on your face
spews its pus and gives others a taste.
Nothing you can “make do” with my cordiality drained.
I heard y’all talking shit,
faces flushed when you saw I heard it.
At least now I can clean out house
and arrange the furniture for just myself.
Here’s the one I know will be fixed.
I know we’re a package deal, but som etimes it doesn’t really feel like
you leave on the seal. I know you’ve t orn it off and you haven’t broken
off from the ones who piss you off and make your face heat up and loosen
the adhesive. I love you more than an ything, and I know it’s reciprocated,
but it feels complicated when you’re im plicated as a mean girl who spreads
rumors and has to worry about that wa lking tumor. That’s not you, and you
haven’t broken that promise, but I don’t know if I’m just the benign cyst that
hangs out around your neck and only goes away when forced to disconnect.