I pity the man who will love you when i am done. He will show up to your first date with a dustpan and broom, ready to pick up all the pieces i left you in. He will hear my name so often it will begin to dig holes in him. Thats where doubt will grow. He will look at your mouth, your neck and wonder all the ways i touched you. He will make you all the promises i did and some i never could. He will hear the terrible stories, how i drank, how i lied. He will wonder (as i have) how someone as wonderful as you could love a monster like the man before him. Still, he will compete with my ghost. He will understand why you do not look in the back of closets, why you are afraid to look under the bed. He will know every corner of you is haunted by me.