breaking point

you can destroy someone and still get a 4.0 because you're fuckingsuper woman

nearly there
nearly everywhere —
you're calling action
on the shots of your past.

three point turning down the
highway and you're
flying like seven, seven, seven,
just a block from your heaven.

baking all your peach pies —
much sweeter than the girl who
doesn't know what questions to ask—
contact here for the job next year.

you picked you over me
so i'm going to go pick me
over me
because nobody else did.
now. huh. 

knocking down your years;
four, three, two, here
turning cogs on your turnstile,
trying to see how life works out.

good luck with all your future
actions too. you really fucked up
and i don't know how to forgive
you because it doesn't go
away.