(…and this is the second.)
I wonder if you have a secret meeting
in which you gather, chat, and then decide
it’s time for all of you to send your greetings
because it’s been too long since I’ve replied.
On Thursday night, it’s one of you that starts
to chip away the ice that I’ve built up.
By Saturday, I am the Queen of Hearts
and you fight each other to refill my cup.
But Sunday morning’s when I see the light
and know all your intentions haven’t changed.
Oh ghosts, I promise now to be forthright:
I hate the useless banter we’ve exchanged.
So next time, when your fingers feel that itch
to text me those same drunken tired pleadings,
do me a favor — call some other bitch
’cause I have better things that I’ll be reading.