Drama
The windows shuttered, she slammed the door so hard storming out. It was 4am and she was pissed. Flippin out and yellin'.
At first, I blamed only myself. But since then, I've come to place the blame squarely on you for being a red-blooded guy, and on her too, for punking. She knows she did.
I think of how ironically you kissed me and said you knew you'd screw it up. I guess you were right.
In callousness now, I no longer care about her feelings, shrug my shoulders and count it another casualty of my war. After all, just hours before we had danced, laughing and singing as she worked someone else.
When he asked later, I shrugged again. I didn't care much what you may have said, and secretly delighted in the fire it lit in his eyes. No regrets. In either case.
That afternoon, I watched the two of you in his car with your solemn faces, and wondered if you both knew you had been played.
The whole thing was a jigsaw puzzle made of glass pieces, and I the artist that pushed them together and when bored, threw them to the floor. Shards of shattered pieces impaled in soft hearts by calloused hands.
I've left that place behind now, perhaps for good. And, as the pages close on that chapter, I exhale, seek forgiveness, and try to forget.
You've been played. All of you.
Posted by Amanda at March 01, 2003 11:28 AM
