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