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I cannot believe you sometimes. I am not going to be a last resort anymore.
I will not be an option, sliced like an apple because it cuts me to the core.
Of course, with you, it’s dates before mates. But you don’t want to admit that.
Am I the only close girlfriend you’ve got?
The one who you come to when they break your heart.
You know the truth, so hit on that before I hit the roof.
If I am, you are not being smart.
You can do what you want.
Let the apples from our friendship tree get worn by maggots or fall to the floor.
When you feel like it turns them into cider so that we can get drunk on some tale about how I am your best friend, drunk on excuses.
But I am sober again.
I see the light. I see the dark. I’ve seen the colours as we go into autumn now. But this time it’s black and white.
You don’t use me, you don’t use my friends.
No, you will not.
This is coming to an end.
He is the apple of your eye, so he’s not being left to rot.
Remember that, friend.