i fucking hate you. i hate you for who you are, who you pretend to be, and for who you were and will turn out to be in the future. i hate the way you say my name like it means something more than some syllables you’ve caressed with your tongue like all your other lovers, like i’m not just another string of letters in your alphabet soup of girls, identical in substance, different only in shape. i hate
that your words are sharper than any knife made to tear fabric, and that when you say something you mean it so much that it hurts. i hate your anglo-saxon suburban upper middle class demeanor— your impeccable diction choice, your aristocratic vernacular, your keen ability to detect bullshit and then turn around and bullshit the entire world in return. i hate your stupid nice-white-boy façade; your stupid broad shoulders and your stupid thrift store jackets; your stupid conversational skills and your stupid story-telling abilities and your stupid stupid inclination to abuse substances like you’re a cat with nine lives. i hate
that at one time i thought we could’ve been bonnie and clyde meets sunny and cher meets mr. and mrs. brady; a lawyer and a doctor as a stripper and drug dealer on the side. i fucking HATE how clever you are, because at the end of the day you just used it to fuck everyone over, me included, and oh how i despise that well-rounded, intellectual, Renaissance candor you use to reel in all the peasants and princesses; i swear you’re a thief in shining armor judging by the frequency you pick pocket hearts.
now, what i most especially hate
is how hard it is to hate you. but since hate may as well be love, i think it’s about time i throw in the towel. i’m done hating you… i think it’s time i focus my energy on someone more worthwhile.
