Tell me you think I'm fat. Tell me you think I'm stupid and unfunny and really quite smelly.

Tell me that all along you were using me to get back at Jana for dating someone else. That I was a distraction for you while you waited for her to make up her mind.

Tell me I was terrible in bed. That you hated every sound I made. That you hate my cooking and my conversation was banal and lame.

Make me believe that every minute you spent with me was like walking on broken glass. With bees in it. And the bees were mad and had metal teeth that were jagged. And rabies.

Now I'm just getting silly. Just tell me you hate me so that I can hate you and move on.

That would be so much easier.