Screw my boyfriend.
Screw my boyfriend as he pretends to love me with warm arms and kisses made of butterfly wings.
His ocean eyes pore into mine, as my stomach leaps like hope from my throat.
F***. I love him.
But the word love can easily be replaced with the word hate.
The way his being is a mattress stuffed with lies instead of cotton and deciet instead of springs.
His need to be looked at, talked to, loved.
And not just by me, a girl with a mind as tangled as her hair, but by anyone he can get applause for.
The worst part is that he needs me.
I am cocaine, meth, heroin.
I am what he needs when he is kicked like a rock in the dust.
When in reality, he deserved it.
I am what gets him through the painful moments in school, when that chick with the t**s doesn't say "hi" to him, when the girl who made him feel beautiful slides right past him in the hallway without a glance his way.
The word love can easily be replaced with the word hate.