Hey, Angel

It's hardly fun, you know
I mean, frankly it's like
being stabbed in the back and shot
in the heart
(but that's her being her melodramatic self,
        as usual, and the irony doesn't come off without the context.)
    But surely the years are worth a tear?
I've not seen you shed one
(not in all the years -
 so does that make it alright?
 It's just her way.)
And maybe I would like to
make you
shed a tear (or two,
blood and tears mingling in a blot
upon your fine features;
not so angelic now, are we?)
but I've used up all my get-out-of-jail-free cards
so brimming with excuses and apologies already.
You didn't ask for one, you took it as given
after all, how could I have possibly meant what I said?

The rest may have been meaningless, my lovely,
but what I said to you - a moment of sweetest clarity;
it's the truest thing I've said in a long time.
Oh, my secret keeper, and sharer of my heart;
I hate you.