One-night stands got my mind all fucked up.
A week of late nights just thinkin’ bout who lied to me first.
I’d finish by drinking cheap bottles of beer with Reagan and Dom,
outside of Jeff’s ash-riddled porch on a gloomy Sunday morning,
Listening to D’angelo over and over again too,
thinkin’ bout what happened between her and I.
One Mo’ Gin from Voodoo was our secret theme-song.
We started denouncing women from Hamilton and Catholic-schools
as the villains of our lives’ stories
who we had to hate and defeat.
It was so stupid,
and so petty.
I found it interesting how Dom kept throwing shots
from his glass house of drugs,
and incapability to face his problems when he’s sober.
I don’t know how he did it —
Ruth actually cared about you —
All the boys and I
made an oath to shun those types of women out of our lives,
but I had my fingers crossed behind my back,
because I couldn’t bring myself to completely despise
some of the women
who meant so much more to me
than most of these boys.