i don't write poetry.
"are you in any position to pardon sins? i'm afraid i might have a favor to ask you."
before i start, you should know how i centered you in my cross and watched you spill your truth carefully into a funnel and straight through to deaf ears. i meant to pull the trigger on both of you, but she's quick on the draw, that one. she shot you for me. she killed you nightly, in front of televisions and empty buildings, in front of the moon and countless rows of empty parking spaces. she hooked pain like bait, and stupidly, you took it. i don't blame you. we both did. looking back at her, looking down at her, you and i both know she didn't have any idea what she was doing. she treated emotion like lipstick because girls like her are too empty to sincerely, honestly feel.
but since we've settled that, i guess i can begin.
you knew her as a genuine virgin, and we forgot her as a bonafide slut. dangling her sex in front of you like car keys when you weren't even old enough to drive... and i'm so furious as i focus my scope on her, her laughing at your grip on the wheel and her smirking at your eye on the road and her pushing you to take that tenative foot of yours off the break. but what enrages me the most is all the months blocking my shot, all the years that keep me from taking her out before she uses that saccharine voice of hers, that asparthame face of hers to coach you right across the median and through the guardrail and over the edge of... everything. maybe the accident wiped your memory clean, because i saw you driving yesterday, with a steady hand and a nonchalant speed and a "fuck you" into the rearview mirror, if that.
yes, i'm jealous.
i'm insanely, crazy jealous because you walked away from that wreck and i'm still shaking. we both watched her sit stubbornly in that burning heap, but you left and got your license while i still sit here trying to prevent a crash that already happened.
and if you think that i don't know you, you're wrong. if you think i've spent a single minute since without wishing away that girl, without wishing myself into her place, you're so wrong. you wouldn't know, but i'm a nice girl. you wouldn't know, but you were my first date.
i know you don't care if i'm afraid of cars now, my point is how i care that you're not.