The first breath I take
becomes the very first choice I make

Am I upset?
No, I don't think so.

I think the best way to describe how I feel towards you right now
is to buy a ******* useless vase, instead of adding it to the rest of your collection of useless stuff down in the basement, use it as a decoration, give it life and purpose and make a pretty flower grow in it, every now and then water it, clean the mess it makes, heck-- even take selfies with it. Next, I want you to unwillingly do the following:
put this vase on an ad on Craig's list, give it for free to someone who is on the same continuum of uselessness. Done? ok, now go break that ******* vase. What? You can't? It's not yours anymore? How does THAT feel? Do you feel upset? Angry? Confused? No, you feel helpless. Well now you know how your friendship feels like and what your friendship means. Not cool. We aren't cool. Don't make me break you, it won't fix you into becoming someone I need.

you make me mad,
out of mind,
you make me want
to lose my
**** over you, but
no thanks,
you aint **** anyways.

Losing my **** over you is an understatement,
that's something a person like you would do,
not me honey.

here's the thing about looking
onto windows at night,
you suddenly come to realize the world
in its separate yet inescapable three dimensions,
you see not only your own reflection,
but over and beyond,
you pause from blinking
and for an abrupt of an instant,
your life flashes before your eyes,
you see all of the scenes so clearly
acted out by a vivid yet an accurate reflection,
you start to remember the meticulous shade
of a sky that your cheeks were touched by,
the thickness of a boy's pride that made you
wish the world existed in only one dimension,
you feel the pain that filled the veins
of a cracked floor you once walked on,
your lips lift to form a smile a stranger
threw at you from a stage you wanted to be on,
and in this peripheral gazing,
you exist in two dimensions
stuck in between what the window
entails at day and at night.

once upon a winter,
a storm made a victim out of you,
and so you sleighed to warm embracing arms,,
but they called your feelings out as faulty,

you tried to supress the past,
indulged the present,
and disregarded any grudges into spring,
but you didn't linger for warmth anymore,
your heart ached in ways it hadn't before,
you doubted the only soul residing in your body,

sleep was your only escape from reality,
but your dreams were forearmed,
trapping you back to a survival
which you felt unfortunate to have,
next thing you know,
you become a living metaphor for, "can this get any worse?",