Stephanie sat in her chair,
quiet at me,
with her sad sadness.
And I groped at the hard heart.
I put on my make-up and watched at the bags,
all packed, all readiness.
Leave me be,
be quiet at me,
and nothing more.
Don't make me run, girl.
Don't make me run with smeared make-up, out the door.
I whisper my witness at our friends.
I pretend at our friends.

Stephanie threatened to hit me.
And I lit my cigarette and looked away.
Oh girl, my girl.
The girl I made.
Coming all undone in the most public of ways.
Put it back inside, sweetheart.
Let's go back inside.
And don't talk to me with your sad sadness.
And I won't talk to you,
with my ice and knives.
Here's our seperate paths.
Take yours.
Leave me to mine.