Via Matilda - With Surgical Precision

I hate seeing your band play the clubs.
I hate hearing your songs, which are about me, and how everything burst.
I hate seeing little girls, still in highschool, maybe even not there yet, humming along and moving their hips to the words you spared me in your songs.

I hate how you think all of this makes you worthy of something bigger, a greater love, a blind appreciation of all that is you.
In fact, I loathe you and every single fucking thing you stand for.

And I finally told you, too.
I removed you from my life, like a tumor.
With surgical precision.

While you were digesting the shock value of everything I think of you and see you as,
I was skipping the streets, the widest smile ever etched onto my face.
I was off the hinges with joy, more so than you ever brought me.
I bought a plane ticket.
I'd be going away, to a bigger city with cold pavements, where I wouldn't have to pass your apartment building whenever I wanted to buy a pack of smokes.
I was in heaven.

Yesterday I heard.
You're following me to My City.
Are there no other cities in the world to get lost in, to melt into, that you had to declare an invasion on mine?

Just as tumors are removed, lethal poisons are inserted and injected.
With surgical precision.