Reckoning.

If you are no longer good, then what are you?
Left alone, by the phone, on the floor
where my blood poured that one time.
And I said "I love you" and you said "goodbye"
and you got up and left when I couldn't say why
I said what I said and didn't mean
for how could I?
When I thought you were different and better than I.

And if you are no longer good, then what are you?
In the hours and weeks and the days that I lied
when I cried to my friends but the reasons denied.
Still I wait on the line, and I didn't say why
when you asked at the party and I said I was fine.
Won't you take me home with you one last time?

I extrapolate meaning from the few things you said.
If I gave better head, or was better in bed
you'd have stayed on that floor, where my blood poured
that one time.
If my love was conditional, rational, refined,
If I was more like her I might not even mind
that you got up and left when I couldn't say why
I said what I said --
or you asked me to lie.
Because women are dirty, and make men go awry.

And if you are no longer good, what am I?
On the floor, like a game that could help you decide.
I remember the rum and the vodkas and limes
and the lines on the floor and the lines in my mind
that you told me so I could believe you were mine.
Won't you take me home with you one last time?

But it was my floor, so I was the place
the position, the ambition, the willing disgrace
when I lay by the phone, and made moan and I poured
and the blood on the floor and the knock at the door
And I said I was sorry and I promised to lie.
Because you might still be different and better than I.

 

*send thoughts to little red*
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