angst, angst, angst…

It’s like you want to make me cry

everytime we talk about the past.

I could say that you’re an ass

but it just wouldn’t be true.

I keep thinking of you

even when I don’t want to.

It’s makes me kind of angry.

But only at myself.

Because telling you that

“you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Was probably the truest thing I ever said.

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