Meet you downstairs in the bar and hurt
Your rolled up sleeves and your skull t-shirt
You say what did you do it with him today?
And sniffed me out like I was Tanqueray
Cause you're my fella, my guy
Hand me your stella and fly
By the time I'm out the door
You tear men down like Roger Moore
I cheated myself
Like I knew I would
I told ya, I was trouble
You know that I'm no good
Upstairs in bed, with my ex boy,
He's in a place, but I cant get joy,
Thinking of you in the final throes, this is when my buzzer goes
Run out to meet you, chips and bitter
You say when we're married cause you're not bitter
There'll be none of him no more
I cried for you on the kitchen floor
I cheated myself
Like I knew I would
I told ya, I was trouble
You know that I'm no good
Sweet reunion, Jamaica and Spain
We're like how we were again
I'm in the tub, you're on the seat
Lick your lips as I soak my feet
Then you notice lickle carpet burn
My stomach drops and my guts churn
You shrug and it's the worst
Who truly stuck the knife in first...
-
"So, you have fun last night?" You sneer as you say this, lifting your drink where you scowl behind the amber colored liquid. I pause, hand posed above the bedroom door knob; I bite my lip quickly, but turn to face you with a small frown on my face.
"...what are you implying?" I ask, eyes narrowing even though I'm lying through my teeth. Why do I keep doing this? You shrug, sipping the drink you started having a taste for.
"Is there something to imply?" You ask innocently, placing the heavy glass on the kitchen counter top. I set my hand on the cool brass, and squeeze the metal.
"No."
"Then why are you being so paranoid?" I mentally sigh, turning my gaze away from you and turn the knob.
-
-
I'm not dead.
