I know that it would be wrong, but every time I see your car taking two spaces in the parking lot, I wish I could let the air out of your tires, you entitled prick.
I know that I have too many reasons to dislike you; I wish that I didn’t still find you so attractive.
I know that I put up a great front, but I wish that it wasn’t so frequently used to mask soul shaking doubts.
I know that we used to be friends; I wish I knew what happened to us and I had the courage to ask you.
I know better than to communicate through a blog; I wish I didn’t really want to identify the subjects of the previous few lines.
I know that you’re gonna burn in hell for what you did to me; I wish that you hadn’t also robbed me of the belief in hell below and heaven above.
I know that my best days are always ahead of me; but I wish I wasn’t so wistful about years long gone.
I know that our marriage was as good of an idea as playing with matches while standing in a gasoline puddle; I still wish that we hadn’t given up quite so easily.
I know that rapid problem solving is among my greatest strengths; I wish I could direct that skill inwards.
I know that you’re in a loveless, soulless, suburban marriage that drains you with each day; I wish that you didn’t use me as an escapist excuse to indulge your inner-city-boy.
I know that you know the broad-strokes if not the details; I wish that your girlfriend would stop making a fool out of you by taking you to the scene of her crimes.