i threw away the wallet i bought last summer
at the guatemalan import store
when i flew three thousand miles to see you.
i don't care about writing
about you
it never comes naturally
it never feels right
unnatural, artificial.
like a bad addiction to fast food-
or cigarettes;
it seemed so harmless...
but now
i have to live
with the consequences
and that's the only thing
i'll ever care about:
how you've ruined me