Blood on my phone from your last text—
I lick it off, tastes like regret.
You said “die,” so I tried,
but the Devil sent me back, said “she ain’t done yet.”
Fuck love, I upgraded to hate,
still jerk off to the ghost in my headphone jack.
I’m your ex-bitch’s hate-me anthem,
boots on the bed, cum on the phantom.
If mercy’s a hole, I dug it,
then jumped in it, still screaming your name—
auto-tuned, explicit, eternal.