u/Icy_Sport2597

Whatever made you stop talking to me…

I know.
That’s all my fault.

Whatever made you upset,

trust me, I own it.

Maybe you got tired of waiting for my call.

Maybe I couldn’t call because I didn’t have the balls.

But I do now.

You need both hands to hold them…

but you never answer.

I could be wrong.

Maybe it’s the time zones we live in,

fighting to keep us apart.

Or maybe it’s not.

I know now that sometimes the best thing to do

is not think too much

and just go after what I want.

But you’re not there.

So I get it.

You couldn’t wait for a coward.

You need someone who shows up,

and maybe you found him.

I couldn’t blame you if you did.

But still…

I’m here.

Alone with these balls of courage,

and no one to hold them.

I heard that if you play stupid games,
you win stupid prizes.

I’m not the one to fuck around and find out.
I don’t press my luck. I don’t play with fire,
because I know who gets burned.

Two wrongs won’t make a right.
That’s why we’re both swimming up shit’s creek.

Even if you put your money where your mouth is,
even if you practice what you preach,
it still makes no difference to me, because talk is cheap.

And in the end, if the fat lady never sings,
then I guess it is what it is.

But don’t believe them when they tell you silence is golden.

Because so is Piss.

We want the entire internet,

every conspiracy theory,

and the secrets of the universe

hard-wired straight into our brain—

just don't you fucking dare

call us a know-it-all.

We want every single eyeball in the room

glued to us like we're the final boss…

until one person actually looks.

Then it's instant psychological warfare:

"Excuse me???

What the hell are you staring at?

Do I have something on my face?

Is this my E! True Hollywood Story?

LOOK. THE. FUCK. AWAY."

We want to be the reason you wake up,

the argument you keep having with yourself,

the stranger in line at Starbucks

who simply ordered a coffee and left.

I have a story to tell.

I hope one day it’s a story to sell.
It’s about how you put me through hell,
how you would hurt,
how you would yell.

Pushed me to the brink
Never blinked when I fell

You cast your spell.
cracked me open like an eggshell,
exposing my insides,
releasing an infectious smell.

Now there’s a ringing inside of my head,
constant and loud like a bell.
My head and my heart
are where the pain likes to dwell.

My blood pressure’s rising,
I’m starting to swell.

It’s time to escape you.

I misspelled your name in a line
just so I could erase you.

Nothing more left to say.

Fuck off,
Don’t have a nice day.

I have a story to tell.

I hope one day it’s a story to sell.
It’s about how you put me through hell,
how you would hurt,
how you would yell.

Pushed me to the brink
Never blinked when I fell

You cast your spell.
cracked me open like an eggshell,
exposing my insides,
releasing an infectious smell.

Now there’s a ringing inside of my head,
constant and loud like a bell.
My head and my heart
are where the pain likes to dwell.

My blood pressure’s rising,
I’m starting to swell.

It’s time to escape you.

I misspelled your name in a line
just so I could erase you.

Nothing more left to say.

Fuck off,
Don’t have a nice day.

Most things in life come with a return policy.

You can take back the food you ordered
even though you ate half of it.

You can return the clothes you bought
and wore to your cousin’s party.
Just say they didn’t fit.

Hell, you can return the Easy-Bake Oven
and all the makeup you got for Christmas

because apparently you’re a boy.

But eventually, you’ll come across someone
having a shitty day, they’ll look at you dead-ass
and tell you:

"No refunds on that today.”

But do you want to know what’s worse than something that’s unreturnable?

Coming across something that’s unverifiable.

It’s 3 a.m., and you can’t sleep because you’ve had one question on your mind all day:

“Have I ever licked a butthole?”

You can’t remember every time you got wasted at a bar with strangers. For all you know, the answer is both true and untrue until someone sends a text at some odd hour asking if you want to come over again.

But if that never happens, and there’s no other recorded evidence hidden somewhere in your gallery, then maybe that event lapsed into history the moment it came about.

And that's why your thoughts just won't shut up.

So the question remains:

Did it happen?

Maybe it didn’t.

...Maybe.

Nobody really knows.

Until your phone dings at 3:02 a.m.

Schrödinger’s Butthole.

I don’t mean to sound rude.

And I don’t want to hate you.

But I do.

I loved you so much that I hate you for walking away.

I hope this isn’t a cycle I keep repeating.

I hope I break free of you in the next life.

I’m starting to think you’re the mistake I keep falling for—the reason I can’t move on.

I’m not saying you’re a bad person.

Just bad for me.

And it’s not that I’m bad for you.

It’s that I’m worst without you.

I can’t keep doing this.

So I hope we don’t meet again in the next life.