I wish I Could Tell You More

Untitled Part 1

I wish I could tell you more, more about how I need you here but want you to leave at the same time. I wish I could tell you how it's not fair, not fair how you get to go home to someone who loves you; someone who loves you despite all of the hell you have raised—someone who wants you and only you. I wish I could tell you that I hate feeling like your nine to five job, a job that never seems to offer any over time. Somedays though, I feel like the long drag you need on your smoke break, but I know I am not addictive enough to keep you hooked. But, I am that bad habit that no one can know you have. I wish I could tell you I hate you — and mean it. I wish I could tell you I love you — but we both know that's a lie.

I want to push you away, but pull you in. I want to feel you on my skin — even though it's disgusting. I wish I would finally realize how wrong this all is; wrong that you're taking advantage of someone who is so naive and broken — not to mention half your age. Honestly, why would you want someone whose your daughters age? It makes you look pathetic. No, wait, it makes ME look pathetic. Pathetic for thinking that I actually mean something to you. No one better you say? No, it's more like no one else wants to play your game; no one but me.