It's a shame that we aren't soul mates,
because we used to be.
But now we're one-seventeenth of a whole teenager;
hormonal,
angry,
depressed.
But all I can say is,
when you think I'm overbearing,
instead,
think of how heavy it is to carry
a whole friendship on one back;
it's dead, lulling weight
digging into your spine,
slowing you down,
hoping you feel better
when it tells you, drunk,
how much you're worth.

I can't do this alone,
I need you to tell me sober that you love me,
or leave my life for a better one.