I don’t like you anymore, but my gut doesn’t believe it.
It slinks into a straight line through my stomach whenever I see you, then hangs a left and heads for my heart. What the hell.
I don’t really want to care who you’re touching or what you’re drinking, but the residue of something we used to know won’t wash off my mind. I leave fingerprints of dissolved conversations on my glass. I cough blood on your old sweatshirt and swear I’ll throw it out. I haven’t yet.
It would all be okay if I were in ninth grade, but I’m not. It would all be okay if I thought we should be together, but I don’t. Instead it’s just the ghost of a feeling that I strangled and kicked and sliced, until finally I convinced myself that it was done.
Is this because of the Super Moon? I’m shutting my windows. I’m cranking Led Zeppelin. I’m kicking you out of my guts.
[GIOVANNA BATAGLIA - AM I THE IMAGINARY SOCIALITE?]