Sunday afternoon. In bed. Tryin to sleep. It’s become a ritual. I think about u. About us. Dreamin about running into you at a club. You’ll be sitting there bored with him. And I’ll be dancing. The life of the party. Dancing around you. Showing you I’m OK. I’m alive. I’m alright. That’s how I usually fall asleep. Not today. Today I have to write this down. I want you. I want us. Back. I’m fuckin demented and I know it. We’re bad for each other. A ticking time bomb. A nuclear explosion waiting to happen. I miss u. I’ve missed u for years. I miss u introducing me to your friend. “This is my BF”. Fuck yeah, I’m into labels. Fuck yeah, I’m traditional. I haven’t cried in years. Years. I’m fuckin tough. On the exterior. Ex. Terior. Funny. But as I sit in bed now with nothing but my thoughts and Frank Ocean’s Thinkin Bout You playin, I find my eyes tearin up. You’re the only one. The only thing. That makes me cry. You’re so bad for me and I know it. You’re bad. And I love that. I don’t want your roses and kisses. I want you to slap me. To hit me in the stomach. To bang my head into the wall. Push me down the stairs. And then apologize for it. And tell me how much you love me. Kiss the bruise on my face. Taste my tears. And tell me how much you love me. Then fuck me. Right there on the stairs. While I cry. While you cry. Right there on the stairs. Stained with blood, tears and cum. That’s what I want. That’s what puts me to sleep at night. Dump him. I donno who he is. I don’t wanna know. Dump him. You know no one has ever hated you the way I do. And you know that’s love. Why do you keep talkin to me. You say you wanna be friends. You say you just wanna talk. Friends. But I know you know I can’t handle it. I know you see it in my eyes. In my words. Dump him. He can’t handle u. I can’t either. But I’ll die trying. Your name. Four letters. 2 vowels. 2 consonants. My weakness. My obsession. You’re not worth it. I know. But when I see “Four letters 2 vowels 2 consonants” sent you a message on Facebook or “Four letters 2 vowels 2 consonants” is talking on Whatsapp… my heart starts beating. I feel something. Somethin I didn’t feel that day. I feel alive. You’re no good. And I’m no good. But I’ve had good. I’ve had the nice boyfriend. The sweet boyfriend. Who sang me Happy Birthday in bed. I wish you can do the same. Be the same. Have some compassion. Show me some love. I guess people never change. I sure haven’t changed. I’m still an asshole. Judgmental. Don’t give you the chance to speak. To justify yourself. I’m sensitive. Emotional. And I scream when I’m mad. I push you away. I’m an asshole. And an asshole like me needs an asshole like you. Dump him. Leave him. And call me up. Say “I realized I want to give us a shot”. Say “I realized I love you”. Say “You’re the one. It’s you. It’s always been you”. Say that. I’m a catch. I’m a fuckin catch. With a beautiful pink asshole. Have you seen my Facebook pics? I’m adorable. I’m hot. I’m cute. The pics I upload just for you. To get your attention. And they do. I know they do. You’re a coward. You donno what you want. And I hate that about you. So why can’t I stop thinkin about u? Maybe I want what I can’t have. Maybe I’m a masochist. Not maybe. For sure. Come on. Let’s go back together. Let us slow dance. Forget all the things that tore us apart. That keep tearing us apart. Let’s pretend that I’m not immature. Let’s pretend that you don’t believe in heaven and hell. Let’s drive at 200 km/hr on the coast. The wind blowin my hat away. Your hand massaging my neck. Let’s kiss in the cemetery. Our first kiss. A sign of bad things to come. Let’s pretend. And take it from there. Reality’s not for us. In reality, we won’t work out. Let’s pretend we’re made for each other. Fake it till we make it. Pretend you love me. I know you’ll remember how to if you just gave it a shot. If you just pretended. If you tasted it one more time. Ate it. No one swallowed it like you did. Fed on it. Put it on his lips and worshipped it. Then lied next to me and said: “You’re an angel”. But angels can be bad too. Devils like you do it good. Fallen angels like me do it better. We’ve seen both sides. The purity of heaven. The wrath of hell. You’ve only seen one, so let me tell you. Heaven’s overrated. I want you to live in hell. With me. The blood. The sweat. The tears. The bruises. The cum. The scars. The scars of life. Of love. Open your mouth. Take a breath as if it’s your last. And swallow.