The Truth

I hate coming home because I have to talk to you.

You ruin my weekends.

I have more fun with them than I’ve ever had with you.

I lied every time I told you I loved you.

I’m not answering on purpose.

Are you that fucking stupid. Can you even count to 10?”

If you were going to kill yourself, why haven’t you done it already.

This poem is about: 
Me

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