it's poetry when he speaks
it's supernovas and entire galaxies colliding
when he speaks to me

her hands left graveyards.
over and over, she longed to
hold his heart
but only managed to barely touch
with her fingertips,
just barely within reach
each time

he didn't know what to do with all the headstones

you were barely mine
but it's like
i've already
lost you

i'm so used
to the bittersweet feeling
of love unreciprocated
i've grown tired
but
what am i
without this longing?

i hate everything
would it be any less alarming
than when i say
i hate myself?