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SSC27 Breakaway
Is it another woman? I can’t believe that you have the cheek to ask. I forgave you your indiscretions. You said you were drunk, that it didn’t mean anything. Trouble is you’re drunk all too often. Really, can you not leave the apartment without tipping alcohol down your neck? Does the world look better when you see everything doubled?
Don’t look at me like that. I know I drink too, only I know when I’ve had enough. I’m not the one who slept with their head on the toilet all night – and still managed to vomit all over the rug. No, you won’t remember that. I’m not even going to say it was all bad – we did have some fun. You always wanted more though. I bought you some earrings, you wanted a matching necklace. I took you out to dinner, you wanted to go somewhere better, more expensive. If I bought a bottle of wine, you wanted two. Or three or four.
No, it’s not about the drinking, it’s about me. No, it’s not that old cliché “it’s not me it’s you”, because it is you, I’ve just opened my eyes to see what you are. You’re a user. You suck whatever you can out of people, giving nothing back whatsoever. And there’s so much room to take it all in, because you’re emotionally empty. You’re a vacuous waste of space that feeds on bad emotion. You lie constantly. I don’t think you’d even know the truth anymore you’ve spent so long living the lie.
You even look fake. You’re faceless, almost featureless in every way. It’s true that yours is a face without blemishes, but there’s nothing of distinction either, no history, no character. At first I mistook it for beauty, perfection, but you can only look at a face like that for so long before you can see through it.
Even those witty anecdotes of yours aren’t true. All of your tales of wild nights are made up. Actually, I’d not give you the credit to make them up – I imagine you stole them, heard funny tales on TV or on the radio and made them your own. The sad thing is that you have lived a life of your own, one that I would have loved to hear about when it was all fresh and exciting, but instead you told all of the worst tales you’d ever heard, all starting “Oh, I was so hammered one time when…” or “I was so stoned, you wouldn’t believe it…”.
You could be so much more than you are. I’ve seen your type before, craving some kind of recognition for something you’re not. I believed I could drag the real you out, find the interesting person inside this physically attractive but hollow shell. Now I’ve seen inside, caught a glimpse of the real you I don’t want to know the secrets you hide. They’re destroying you, and I shalln’t let them destroy me too.
So you’re right, there is another woman, but it’s not like you’d expect. Not the kind of sob story you’d read in one of your pathetic magazines, no, my other woman in Lady Luck. I’m lucky that I’ve got the strength to break away from you, to leave you to the fate your so keen to suffer. You had your chance, and I tried, I really did, but I’m not going to let you ruin me too. Good luck, that’s all I’ve got left to say. I found mine, and I hope you find yours too before you tear some other poor sod's heart to shreds.
Is it another woman? I can’t believe that you have the cheek to ask. I forgave you your indiscretions. You said you were drunk, that it didn’t mean anything. Trouble is you’re drunk all too often. Really, can you not leave the apartment without tipping alcohol down your neck? Does the world look better when you see everything doubled?
Don’t look at me like that. I know I drink too, only I know when I’ve had enough. I’m not the one who slept with their head on the toilet all night – and still managed to vomit all over the rug. No, you won’t remember that. I’m not even going to say it was all bad – we did have some fun. You always wanted more though. I bought you some earrings, you wanted a matching necklace. I took you out to dinner, you wanted to go somewhere better, more expensive. If I bought a bottle of wine, you wanted two. Or three or four.
No, it’s not about the drinking, it’s about me. No, it’s not that old cliché “it’s not me it’s you”, because it is you, I’ve just opened my eyes to see what you are. You’re a user. You suck whatever you can out of people, giving nothing back whatsoever. And there’s so much room to take it all in, because you’re emotionally empty. You’re a vacuous waste of space that feeds on bad emotion. You lie constantly. I don’t think you’d even know the truth anymore you’ve spent so long living the lie.
You even look fake. You’re faceless, almost featureless in every way. It’s true that yours is a face without blemishes, but there’s nothing of distinction either, no history, no character. At first I mistook it for beauty, perfection, but you can only look at a face like that for so long before you can see through it.
Even those witty anecdotes of yours aren’t true. All of your tales of wild nights are made up. Actually, I’d not give you the credit to make them up – I imagine you stole them, heard funny tales on TV or on the radio and made them your own. The sad thing is that you have lived a life of your own, one that I would have loved to hear about when it was all fresh and exciting, but instead you told all of the worst tales you’d ever heard, all starting “Oh, I was so hammered one time when…” or “I was so stoned, you wouldn’t believe it…”.
You could be so much more than you are. I’ve seen your type before, craving some kind of recognition for something you’re not. I believed I could drag the real you out, find the interesting person inside this physically attractive but hollow shell. Now I’ve seen inside, caught a glimpse of the real you I don’t want to know the secrets you hide. They’re destroying you, and I shalln’t let them destroy me too.
So you’re right, there is another woman, but it’s not like you’d expect. Not the kind of sob story you’d read in one of your pathetic magazines, no, my other woman in Lady Luck. I’m lucky that I’ve got the strength to break away from you, to leave you to the fate your so keen to suffer. You had your chance, and I tried, I really did, but I’m not going to let you ruin me too. Good luck, that’s all I’ve got left to say. I found mine, and I hope you find yours too before you tear some other poor sod's heart to shreds.
I like it.
Another nice take on the Other Woman topic.
Maybe not a strong as some of your previous stories, although that still makes it miles better than some of the others here.
Maybe not a strong as some of your previous stories, although that still makes it miles better than some of the others here.
SSC27 Breakaway
Is it another woman? I can’t believe that you have the cheek to ask. I forgave you your indiscretions. You said you were drunk, that it didn’t mean anything. Trouble is you’re drunk all too often. Really, can you not leave the apartment without tipping alcohol down your neck? Does the world look better when you see everything doubled?
Don’t look at me like that. I know I drink too, only I know when I’ve had enough. I’m not the one who slept with their head on the toilet all night – and still managed to vomit all over the rug. No, you won’t remember that. I’m not even going to say it was all bad – we did have some fun. You always wanted more though. I bought you some earrings, you wanted a matching necklace. I took you out to dinner, you wanted to go somewhere better, more expensive. If I bought a bottle of wine, you wanted two. Or three or four.
No, it’s not about the drinking, it’s about me. No, it’s not that old cliché “it’s not me it’s you”, because it is you, I’ve just opened my eyes to see what you are. You’re a user. You suck whatever you can out of people, giving nothing back whatsoever. And there’s so much room to take it all in, because you’re emotionally empty. You’re a vacuous waste of space that feeds on bad emotion. You lie constantly. I don’t think you’d even know the truth anymore you’ve spent so long living the lie.
You even look fake. You’re faceless, almost featureless in every way. It’s true that yours is a face without blemishes, but there’s nothing of distinction either, no history, no character. At first I mistook it for beauty, perfection, but you can only look at a face like that for so long before you can see through it.
Even those witty anecdotes of yours aren’t true. All of your tales of wild nights are made up. Actually, I’d not give you the credit to make them up – I imagine you stole them, heard funny tales on TV or on the radio and made them your own. The sad thing is that you have lived a life of your own, one that I would have loved to hear about when it was all fresh and exciting, but instead you told all of the worst tales you’d ever heard, all starting “Oh, I was so hammered one time when…” or “I was so stoned, you wouldn’t believe it…”.
You could be so much more than you are. I’ve seen your type before, craving some kind of recognition for something you’re not. I believed I could drag the real you out, find the interesting person inside this physically attractive but hollow shell. Now I’ve seen inside, caught a glimpse of the real you I don’t want to know the secrets you hide. They’re destroying you, and I shalln’t let them destroy me too.
So you’re right, there is another woman, but it’s not like you’d expect. Not the kind of sob story you’d read in one of your pathetic magazines, no, my other woman in Lady Luck. I’m lucky that I’ve got the strength to break away from you, to leave you to the fate your so keen to suffer. You had your chance, and I tried, I really did, but I’m not going to let you ruin me too. Good luck, that’s all I’ve got left to say. I found mine, and I hope you find yours too before you tear some other poor sod's heart to shreds.
Is it another woman? I can’t believe that you have the cheek to ask. I forgave you your indiscretions. You said you were drunk, that it didn’t mean anything. Trouble is you’re drunk all too often. Really, can you not leave the apartment without tipping alcohol down your neck? Does the world look better when you see everything doubled?
Don’t look at me like that. I know I drink too, only I know when I’ve had enough. I’m not the one who slept with their head on the toilet all night – and still managed to vomit all over the rug. No, you won’t remember that. I’m not even going to say it was all bad – we did have some fun. You always wanted more though. I bought you some earrings, you wanted a matching necklace. I took you out to dinner, you wanted to go somewhere better, more expensive. If I bought a bottle of wine, you wanted two. Or three or four.
No, it’s not about the drinking, it’s about me. No, it’s not that old cliché “it’s not me it’s you”, because it is you, I’ve just opened my eyes to see what you are. You’re a user. You suck whatever you can out of people, giving nothing back whatsoever. And there’s so much room to take it all in, because you’re emotionally empty. You’re a vacuous waste of space that feeds on bad emotion. You lie constantly. I don’t think you’d even know the truth anymore you’ve spent so long living the lie.
You even look fake. You’re faceless, almost featureless in every way. It’s true that yours is a face without blemishes, but there’s nothing of distinction either, no history, no character. At first I mistook it for beauty, perfection, but you can only look at a face like that for so long before you can see through it.
Even those witty anecdotes of yours aren’t true. All of your tales of wild nights are made up. Actually, I’d not give you the credit to make them up – I imagine you stole them, heard funny tales on TV or on the radio and made them your own. The sad thing is that you have lived a life of your own, one that I would have loved to hear about when it was all fresh and exciting, but instead you told all of the worst tales you’d ever heard, all starting “Oh, I was so hammered one time when…” or “I was so stoned, you wouldn’t believe it…”.
You could be so much more than you are. I’ve seen your type before, craving some kind of recognition for something you’re not. I believed I could drag the real you out, find the interesting person inside this physically attractive but hollow shell. Now I’ve seen inside, caught a glimpse of the real you I don’t want to know the secrets you hide. They’re destroying you, and I shalln’t let them destroy me too.
So you’re right, there is another woman, but it’s not like you’d expect. Not the kind of sob story you’d read in one of your pathetic magazines, no, my other woman in Lady Luck. I’m lucky that I’ve got the strength to break away from you, to leave you to the fate your so keen to suffer. You had your chance, and I tried, I really did, but I’m not going to let you ruin me too. Good luck, that’s all I’ve got left to say. I found mine, and I hope you find yours too before you tear some other poor sod's heart to shreds.