Sometimes it's the haunting feeling that she likes to see your phone number pop up on her telephone screen more than mine. It's the look she gives you when you two meet. Or sometimes it's how she talks about you, like you aren't even worthy of lower lifes like us. It is way she looks when she sees that little blue pill, like it isn't even of this world. And it is that way because of you. And it will always be that way because of her.
I take out my frustration on you, I treat you like shit, I'll admit it. I don't want to make eye contact with you or sit on your furniture or eat at the same table with you or even help you when you want some extra help.
You have become the scapegoat when really it is her. It is her that we are this way and it is her that we still struggle.
Yet when you fail to provide or we don't have the money or maybe she's already spent $150 on pills this week, the scapegoat spotlight shines brightly on me. I am the reason you don't have anything- we should have met you yesterday, we don't have the money because I spend too much of it.
It is never going to get better until it stops. I'm never going to get better until she stops.
It is a well oiled machine and I am just a man.
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