I guess it's easier to put it into a four letter word but it still doesn't hold the same. I hated you for a short time and now I just want you to understand what you've done and how much it affects others. You live your life pleasing yourself and feeling bad for yourself and using others for your pleasure and I, in the time I've known you, ever seen you truly care for another past what they could do for you. Sure, you're good at pretending, but as soon as someone stops doing what you want, they don't matter to you any more. And that's what I've become.
-
I was a temporary masturbatory aid that you pretended to lay feelings in until I became a real person to you.

there's a layer of dust on your furniture
and your things haven't been touched

when you come home
you'll still be miles away

the years we spent in constant contact
were too easy to drop
and fade away

but this doesn't mean they were nothing to me
our late night chats and our cups of tea
you really, really did help me

you struggle so much with your identity,
because you base it all on appearance
just like we both used to

i can't remember when we stopped talking
somewhere between a rainy day
and a random wednesday

it started this way because we were busy
at least that's what i told myself
but really it's just i'm getting better
and you aren't

(and i feel so guilty for that,
you deserve to be better
just as much as i do.
but i don't think
you want it,
yet)

I dreamt about you last night.
It's been months
since the last one

I dreamt that you missed me
And it made me feel better
like I was worth something to you

You saved the things I gave you
In a brown shoebox in your closet
and you showed them to me
one last time
-
I woke up with a bitter taste in my mouth, which also reminded me of you.

your hand in mine feels like where its meant to be
and next to me in my bed is where you're meant to be
holding me when i'm half awake at 5am
in the soft light of morning

you're so warm and familiar
yet so distant and new
i don't know what you want with me yet
but i hope for the best.

She brewed herself a cup of coffee,
her husband already fed.
Sent off into the horizon
with provisions and well wishes
and kind professions of love
to keep his heart warm.

She brewed herself a cup of coffee.
She'd lain in bed an extra hour,
Awake,
hands reaching to the spot where her husband belongs.
She sips on her coffee
two sugars, splash of cream,
and stares at the bleak horizon.

She brewed herself another cup of coffee,
she wasn't going to sleep anyway.
The rain pours and pours, the wind rattles the windows
and her fragile frame.
She tries to quiet her thoughts with reading
and she lays on the right side of the bed.

She brews herself another cup of coffee,
and it tastes extra bitter,
but it's the coffee she's always had.
She sleeps on the left side, as always
just in case.

I am my own worst enemy
I am my own bully, my disease,
I only see in mirrors.

The only way to get rid of her is to get rid of me.
The only way to fight back is to fight myself.
the only way to hurt her is to hurt myself.

I drown her out with ***** on weekday nights and weekday mornings I put on my powdered sugar mask and hide from her cruelties and casualties

My body shakes and shivers in the middle of the night and I fight and I fight for something that is better than this

I'm trying to wash you away but I can't seem to get clean again and my eyes burn when I think of you and how you treated me like some piece of furniture instead of a complex being with thought and how you used me for your own personal physical emotional gains and I deleted all the pictures on my phone and I've hidden you everywhere I can but inside you're fighting back and I don't know where to put this feeling anymore.