She was only married for 5 years, but she lived with the man till the day of her death. First, he was the love of her life, then he became her man, then he became her husband, then he became the father of her children, then he became the man, till he was simply a man, a man that she lived with, that she had sex with, that she fed, that she washed clothes for, that she went to events with. A man, and nothing more.
I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired, so tired of being sick, so sick of being tired.
I’m so tired of being love-sick, and just as intensely, so sick of the way you make me tired.
You make me uncomfortable when you place a third on our love seat, when you make me struggle for your attention like the weakest star among the lot who love and want to be with the moon, when I lie with you and there’s no heat.
I am sick and tired of you, of this us, of the way you ride me like a horse.
You, my Knight of Swords, my prince; me, your princess, asleep. You sucked death out of me- my lips, your lips; first, it was the mouth, then it became the nipps; you made me a new person, from my hair to my feet.
My death settled on your tongue, it poisoned your words, and with each passing day, you reminded me that I once was dead, and that I owe you my life. Our fairytale was over, my prince was killing me, I was dying again.
We are going to play Ex and Oh today, me and him. I’m preparing to have the best lines, give him reasons to spit “oh”s. I miss him terribly, I love him still, but the feeling isn’t mutual to me. He seems to have more than enough “O”les at his disposal. So today, I place an “X” on my heart, today, I cross the bullshit.
Everybody wants to advise you; everybody wants to contribute their two cents, even when they need it more than you do. Everybody wants to dissect you into two; “I’m not a fish, honey, don’t be a fish too.” Everybody wants to teach you what they know, whether or not it’s the truth.
Death didn’t spare my previous knight on his way to meet me, so he became death. He died; he was dead inside. He broke hearts and ripped souls, but I welcomed him with open arms. Totally rejecting the idea that he was completely dead, I tried to fix his wounds. He snatched my heart and broke it in six, and I let myself die the 6th time.
Look, I am very quickly becoming death; so, find another queen. My flowers are not yours to wet; my heart’s not yours to win.
Note: Your knight was/is not Death, queen; your real knight will come!