The hardest part about moving on
is having to accept the fact
you are no longer mine.
Frankly, my dear,
the thought of you being with someone else
Some other girl will get to
moan your name,
and feel your touch,
and leave their marks upon your back,
and it’s not fair.
Why does she get to wake up next to you
and taste your lips
when I’m the one who loves you
and you’ve just met?
You will hold her like you held me.
You will talk to her like you talked to me.
You will look at her like you looked at me.
You will grab her hips, bite her lips, pull her hair,
kiss her, grope her breasts, finger her, fuck her, moan for her.
And as you hold her close,
hold her close to your heart that once beat with mine and
take her in every position imaginable to every inch of the
room you were supposed to share with me,
I will have realized that I am nothing.
All of it meant nothing to you,
and I was nothing, nothing, nothing.
No one particular and not any more special than the girl
for the pleasure you’re feeling throughout your entire body.
And darling, you have every right.
You have every right
to fuck every girl in the bar.
But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to crush my brain
with a bullet, with a hammer,
with anything to make the images stop.
There are too many vivid pictures inside my head
of you being with someone else in bed.
And here I am on the bathroom floor
choking on all my mistakes,
and vomiting out all of my fears.