Thursday, April 19, 2012

Bitches

I don’t want my friends to think I’m oversensitive.
It’s bad enough that I lose it when no one
calls for several days.
I know everyone’s busy.
Everybody’s got lives of their own.
To be honest, I don’t really know them anyway.
I should meet new people.
Lead a quieter life.  
Eat less.
Exercise more.
Have more acquaintances.
Take comfort in passing strangers.
Too many friends can kill you.  
Too many friends can make you think you’re loved
when you’re actually surrounded by bitches,
telling you their secrets, wanting you
to know what little beasts they really are.
But look at how surprised I look
when they finally reveal themselves;
I’m just as fake as they are.
I’ll sit in for photos and look like I’m there.
I’ll smile and laugh at jokes with the sort of conviction
that comes from nowhere.  
All the bitches I should’ve killed—
I’ll let them live.
Care less.
Ignore more.
Pass them by in darkness.
They’re nothing but whores. 

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