she’s crazy, she’s crazy.
she’s fucking psycho.
and where i’m right about that in a way,
i can’t help but think of how i’ve done her wrong.
but i recall what happened the last 10 times i’ve sought her out,
and it happened all over again.
all of my efforts were always wasted and lost
to paranoia, regret, and shame.
she’s just crazy.
so i gotta leave her alone this time.
it’s over. and even if there were a use for all of this mess,
she’s a state away anyways,
and she can go and live like the gypsy fucking hipster she wants to be,
and try to escape her adulthood,
and run away from her past, and abandon her unwanted home,
like the ungrateful, spoiled, and gorgeous girl that she is.
so she can pretend to be a writer,
and mope about whatever she lets on to be
so terribly wrong with her life,
and never admitting to one mistake she’s made.
and she can show everyone the bands i showed her,
and act like she discovered them on her own,
and she can be instagram-famous.
and she can fuck anybody she wants,
any stranger that pretends to give a flying fuck about her life.
i broke this pattern
so deeply embedded into our hearts,
that was misinterpreted
for some reason,
even if i can’t remember at the moment.
and as cliche as this sounds,
i have no choice but to let it all go.