I Used To Hate My Body But Now I Just Hate You

I met you in November for a weekend

I loved you by December like a fool

you left me for a friend over the summer

I never had a chance to play it cool

I read all of the books you recommended

I listen to your friend’s band all the time

you justify and satiate my hunger

for not feeling alright

I misread every warning as an answer

to questions I was too afraid to know

we touched upon a suicide like tourists

you kiss me for an elevator audience, pack your things and go

when I’m lonely I smoke until I know how to sleep so find me the bath is running cold but it’s deep

finish what we started in a hotel with a view

I used to hate my body but now I just hate you

you call me while I’m backstage with a fever

you tell me how I’m always on your mind

I crush a paper bag to the receiver

I learned that trick from a cartoon kid it's always something I wanted to try

I heard you live at home now with your parents

it doesn’t satisfy me like it should

I still see you as some kind of reassurance that someday I’ll be understood