Is the night you left meI spent the whole night cryingMy tears of bloodAnd let them spill all over the floorAnd stained the pink shag carpetAnd hid behind the orange leather couch.And never left the house again.I cried blood all over my handsAnd rubbed my hands all over my faceAnd rubbed my face all over the wallAnd painted your face with my faceAnd used my face to make out with your faceThat I made out of my tears of blood.The most beautiful thing about beingall by myself, is that nobody is thereTo clap for me when I least expect itOr peer pressure me into a night of improv musical theaterOr take off all my clothes without asking for my permissionOr hand me a copy of their 143-paged poetry thesisAnd recite all of it from memoryWithout asking for my permission.Or not look back at mewhen they leave the house in a big huffIn the middle of the nightOr crawl into the bathtub​With another womanAnd not mention itOr drink drink after drink after drinkIn somebody else’s room.All the men who ever loved me are alcoholics.I am the only person I knowWho wants to rub her hands all over everythingI refuse to answer the doorUnless it is for the burglars.I scrub the house clean with bleach.All so I can ruin it again.I stand in front of the mirror for hoursAnd the room fills upWith my tears of bloodI swim in itAnd then drink it all up.It tastes like a steel locket.A locket kept just for a pig.