the whole kit-n-kaboodle.

you can't keep your mouth shut, can you? close those lips over that sour sit-in protest that is your tongue?

knew you couldn't do it. not for more than the two seconds it takes for me to breathe and open my own mouth, form my own words.

shut the fuck up.

i'm talking now.

you. you've been galavanting around this little space i made for you for quite some time now, each graffiti has your tag. first thing i'm doing when you're gone is scrubbing the place clean, darlin. cause i don't want anything to do with your filler.

you can try to find your way back, but each door is carefully sealed, locked five times, and bolted shut. are you getting the idea that maybe i don't want you around anymore?

you've done more damage than good, sugar, and that's quite an accomplishment considering i'm (what was it you called me?) damaged goods?

but let's not focus on the terrible things we've done to each other, huh? let's reminisce about saturdays at the swimming hole and how i always knew your knock at my window. let's talk about those long rides down open roads with me in a tank top and you bare-chested. let's go back to how you promised you'd write me and how i took the fall.

i've got a stomach full of pennies, each wish i made for you. bunch of wasted change, if you ask me.

is it any wonder, that a few years later, i still won't return your calls?