Over It.

I'm sure I won't be the first or last person to tell you I'm sick of your shit.
I haven't played tug-o-war since grade school and to be honest it's a game that never held much appeal to me even then.
If I'm going to fight with somebody I'm at least going to bust a few knuckles. I'm way past arguing at this point in my travels.

You said you were done.
So be done.

Don't stick around and bait me.
Because I'll bite. Every time.

Don't demonstrate your compassion or maturity for me.
Believe me, I've seen both firsthand.

You talk a lot of game but we both know I'm not going to be kicking or screaming at your feet.

See I've moved on; a concept you made damn sure I knew you grasped.
Or should I say mastered?
Hell! According to you, you'd ALREADY moved on. So why am I the one further ahead?
Why are you texting and calling just to make sure I know not to call or text?
As if I'd forget.

You threw in the towel.
Hooray! You're free!
..then you ask what I want from you?

Nothing, baby.
I already have your towel.