S h a w n   B e r m a n 

 

 

We Will Never Be Friends Again Because You Hate My Mustache (And Guts)

 

 

I picture myself as your Christmas lights wrapped around your house in the middle of July,

 

and then I picture you taking me down.

 

I say, ‘no, stop, you don’t need to do this. Christmas is only five more months away.’

 

But you throw me out and now I’m like all the other Christmas lights in the world,

 

and it doesn’t matter to you because you’re just gonna buy new ones, anyway.