  (For Mike. Obviously. ) I hope you choke on every kiss She plants square on your lips. I hope that when you try to swallow them down, They get stuck in your throat. (Still kissing frogs? ) And never again will you be able to taste Anything so sweet (as your lies) As me… Not to mention the kisses that are killing you softly, Breathing all your air.
God, I hate being right. Especially when you knew all along But still pretended I was wrong. God, I hate your frog-digesting, kiss-infected guts. Go ahead and leave again. And this time, It won’t be you I’m lusting after. Bastard.
I’ll be sitting here (Type. Type. Type. ) creating my angry teenage poetry. Punching walls And punching keys. And you’ll be out there, Somewhere, Or better yet, IN.
In everyone you come across, Including Jess– Your best friend. I love the was you talk about How you’re so close When the space between you Is bigger than you think you are. When you finally get together And kill that thing called SPACE, Let me know How much SPACE you allowed for between your bellies, Between your thick skin. So yes, you’re once again IN. How does it feel? I bet it’s mighty satisfying, With a small side of regret.
And with one more girl, That will lust after you. And maybe a few more angry teenage poems. 
