Crazy ex social club: Gossip saves lives, we’re ready to spill
I wonder (maybe it’s more a fear) how you might one day find this.
Will your phone start chiming, “Bro… this your ex?”
Or will you discover it on your own?
That I doubt, it being safely hidden in writing.
I’m curious if you see yourself at all in the brutality.
If this aligns with your (real) account of our end.
Where, in your retelling, I land among all the crazy exes.
Seeing it out there, all your ugliness:
bloated rage, a pathetic compulsion to inflict your pain onto others.
Manipulations. Comparisons. Holes in many walls.
With the truth laid out, bare and vulnerable, do you feel remorse?
Or are your fists balled, already dreaming of revenge?
Fingers missing the rush of clutching my throat too tight?
How does it feel to realize you’re a monster to me?