he leans close
his face in my hair
and tells me
"I'd be happy to make your life
a living hell"
every word stings with truth
as he turns his face to me
I can see every sin of
mine reflected in his face
and
I'm no longer sassy-bass-punk-chick
I'm a withering flower
and empty cup of coffee
a dirty paper towel
and I'm running on nothing
cuz I don't even like your
compliments anymore -
they just glance off of me

you remind me of a sunburn
and I'm sorry aobut the chill