I miss those days I was more than everything,
I was the only thing, I mattered. I was beautiful, transformed, dear.
Now it is not so, if I call I get your machine, or you demand a reason why I called just so you can say you're too busy to talk to me.
Lowly me, little me, the girl who had your heart.
Away in college, away in Siberia. Distant and cold, much like that heart that once held me in highest regards.
Too easily I am now used, left alone, and discarded, a girl who is a used tissue.
The taste of other, stranger, older boys burns in my throat.
Stains and tears linger on pillows and sheets where kisses laced with alcohol and full of meaningless lust had taken place.
I burn in your fire, a heratic, you light the fire, a heratic. How much we still have in common!
I am nothing, you are nothing.
We are liars.