just one more road-trip and this will all be over. we'll listen to the typical modest mouse and indie rock mix tapes and i'll sling my feet, little girl style, out the passenger side window. i'll paint my toenails green and add to the exhaust with my exhales. with my exhaustion of what everything is. with my lost words in a foreign bed at midnight. it's right beside me, love, but i don't know where i am.

maybe i should start with the apologies after i bludgeon her face, after i carefully rip out every strand of hair and write you the longest love letter i could never put postage on. maybe then you'd get it, that this orphan annie is indeed unloved, forlon. maybe then my gift of blood, and her fatal sacrifice will hold something for you. she doesn't know it yet, but she's making me yours. and i hope that every time her clichéd blue eyes face yours you remember painéd gasps. violate me. and maybe her taste in music blows, and maybe you love her lack of mind, and maybe you never loved me at all to start with. but you've brought this open yourself.

just one more road-trip for my final apology.

i'll never make another promise again.

i hope you don't either.