You picked me up in your cheap-ass Prius, said, “Trust me, you’ll love this place.” But the only thing you loved tonight was hearing your own fuckin' name. I tried to tell you ’bout my music, you cut me off with a grin— Launched into your true crime theories for the fifth time. You bragged about your goddamn crypto, your side hustle, your gym routine, How you “almost moved to Malibu” when you turned seventeen. I nodded like an actress on a press tour gone too long, But even Taylor couldn’t shake the feeling that this whole thing felt so wrong. Do you even know what color my eyes are? (it's brown) Do you care about the words that I say? (fuck no) ’Cause I’m drowning in the noise of your monologue, And I’m fading further, further, further away. All you do is talk— Like a podcast no one asked for, playing nonstop. I’m sipping my drink like a lifeline drop, Counting the minutes till this night’s called off. ’Cause you don’t ask, you don’t try, You don’t wonder what I like. Baby, you talk— And I swear if you say “one motherfucking thing,” I might walk. You said your exes were “crazy,” yeah, that’s a giant red flag. Then flexed your Marvel/DC collection like it’s Gucci in a bag. You told me every detail of your Fortnite winning streak, Didn’t notice I was scrolling through my texts every time you’d speak. You asked me what I’m into, but didn’t wait for the reply— Just launched into a monologue ’bout how you’re a “nice guy.” I swear you’d give a TED Talk on how lucky girls should be To sit here listening to everything you love about… you. And not me. Do you even know I write my own songs? (don't even care) Or how I moved across the country at nine? (mm-mm) You don’t ask about the storms I survived, You’re too busy rehearsing your lines. All you do is talk— Like a livestream glitching with no pause. I’m smiling like I’m fine, but swear to God, Every minute with you is a ticking clock. You don’t ask, you don’t try, You don’t wonder what I like. Baby, you talk— And I swear if you say “fun fact,” I might walk. I wanted fireworks, not filler, A real conversation thriller. Someone who’d listen to my fears, Not ramble for two solid fuckin' years. And no, I'm not your therapist that you cry about your problems, So write this down, add to the list: If you wanna make a good impression, Ask a question— Just one goddamn question. But all you do is talk— Like a YouTube vlog stuck on autoplay shock. I’m slipping out the door while you’re still mid-thought, And you don’t even notice that I’m gone, oh God. You didn’t ask, you didn’t try, Didn’t wonder what I like. Baby, you talk— And that’s why this is the last time we meet at all. Yeah, keep talking… Keep talking, Keep talking, Keep talking. I’ll be gone before you finish that sentence. (and FUCK YOU!)
