Behind My Eyes.

objects.

the words you told me, keep ricocheting around in my head.

the same words that rolled off your tongue so effortlessly through your drunken lips, as if you'd rehearsed them.

you brag constantly about how brutally honest you are when you're plastered.

which thinking about now, makes it seem like a ruse to get me to believe it so i'd listen to anything you said.

were you ever honest with me?

i'd never be able to tell because your words and your actions never seemed to line up.

everything was always off.

the words said that first night make me rethink everything that's happened.

you told me that you never meant to hurt me, you hate hurting people and that's the last thing you'd ever want.

you sounded so sincere as if maybe you had feelings.

you said that you thought i was a good person.

anyone would be lucky to know me.

you said you were truly sorry and that you'd never let it happen again.

well here we are, you let it happen again.

i guess it was easy for you to apologize with the word "person" because i learned about your little category system soon after that conversation.

you have three distinct categories: 

first: people/friends.

second: people you know/acquaintances.

and finally, and this is my personal favorite: objects.

you told our dear friend that i was just an object in your mind. 

you couldn't see me as a person. i was just something to entertain you.

an object.

it's easy to apologize to objects.

you had no problem building me up to tear me right back down because i wasn't a person to you.