Our Last Night, You and I

Did you imagine you knew, did you think for any amount of time, did you, in all likelihood you did, at this point I’m being extra dramatic out of disbelief. You couldn’t have possibly known what the night meant, but you walked around with that dreadful camera taking low resolution pictures of everything like you were at some kind of a zoo.

An unfinished building at night with glare from street lights.Who does that? You do, you fucking psychopathic.

Asberger’s.

Poster child.

What.

Is wrong with you?

You know what? It doesn’t even matter what’s wrong with you, it really doesn’t…it so doesn’t matter because we’re done here. Just stay away, keep your weird shit out of my space so I can try to forget you exist.

And they were all like you that night. Because that’s what you do, infect people.

I don’t even know why I have to…

I don’t have to. Fuck it, fuck you, fuck your camera, you know what. Give me that fucking camera you sick…

Nevermind. Fuck it. What’s done is fucking done I don’t give a fuck I don’t take any of it back and at the same time I’m never going back and thanks, by the way, for ruining the night.

2 thoughts on “Our Last Night, You and I

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