This is that one story where I cuss like crazy, so please cover your eyes before they bleed.
Seriously, dude? Why do you even want me anyway? So I’d look nice in your bed? See-through lingerie, so you’d have a pretty set of super lipglossed lips doing unthinkable things to you? What about all the times you criticize me? Call me names? Take me apart, piece by f*cking piece, and piece me back together again, after you’ve sandpapered my flaws away? Am I not perfect bow? You made me this way.
Remember the time you’d cry and beg just so I’d give you head? Remember the time you wanted me to parade naked in the room with you? Oh wait, you were never wrong. It was me that turned you on, you didn’t even want it, yeah? I’ve always been the bad one, right? You never did anything wrong. (We all know.)
You didn’t ever hurt me? Not even when you and your best friends kept character profiling me? Telling me how imperfect and flawed I was? Calling me all names under the sun? “No wonder your parents are ashamed of you. You can never be nice. You’re toxic. You need to be flushed out.” Remember that? You’re crazy. You say all that stuff and you say you miss me. How does one miss a b*tchwhore anyway? One doesn’t. Unless one is a moron. And you’re not a moron. You’ve a backbone. You don’t need me and you don’t need to understand me.
Now that I come to think of it, it’s not you. It’s me. It’s the same story on repeat. Only with a different guy. I’m now terrified to love. I’m scared what you said is true. “No one can exist with you, Hoochie Mama.” You’re right. I only was in it for the money. (Like you were in it for sex.) It’s over. I lost. You won.
I’m gonna reach for the bottle of pills on the counter. Take care, motherf*cker.