You have teary eyed mascara running down your sweet cheeks. Your hair looks like it hasn’t been brushed in two weeks. You hold your head high and pretend like you’re fine, but deep down I know that you’re dying inside. Your heels go clickity-clack with each step that you take when the night comes alive and the world’s awake. You look like a whore and it’s all very whack. If a whore and a slut had a baby, you’re that. A catty, manipulative bad girl at best. Not the nice girl we used to hang out with at recess. Stop playing these games, you yourself are to blame. Not those men you slept with or your mom who’s part sane. Do you see that you hurt everyone around you? Do you know that you’re living a life of less value? You’re not living the life that I thought you’d be living. I thought you’d be the girl who volunteers on Thanksgiving. You’re not the girl I once knew, the one who was tame. You’re not the girl I thought was innocent who now sins on her grave. Even if this means things go downhill from here, you can clean up your mess and feel better my dear. You can dust yourself off and stand up on your feet because it’s never too late to accept your defeat. Regardless of the season or your current situation, there must be a reason for your obnoxious procreation. I just want to hold onto the friendship we had but I can’t when your reputation is actually bad. The pieces of our past are now shattered shreds of glass. The fragments of memories I have glued back together are tainted with blood so it’s hard to remember. My memory is foggy. Our friendship is hazy. I’m trying to move on but you’re driving me crazy!