Nothing good happens after 2 a.m.

You once told me in a dark parking lot at 3 a.m.
“She won.”
As if the love I had to give was a competition.
I still sat in your car while you asked me to be your friend.
I don’t know when I got out,
and I don’t know when I took your words
lit them on fire
and let them burn me from the inside out.
Until what was left were the ashes of a girl,
who turned rage to water,
ran her fingers through the clay of her broken soul

and became her own fucking god.

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