it's 23:53 and if i were to swear that this would be the last poem i write about you

i'd be lying

pain is a far more sustainable fuel than happiness;
it keeps the poet's engine whirring

and darling

all you've ever done is hurt me

00:01
i spent six minutes contemplating how much damage you caused,
the way you ran me off the road, swerving down dark paths i'd never known existed before

i didn't receive compensation for the emotional whiplash you left me with

the words "i love you" make my nerves twinge

"um... is he okay?"
"who knows? just leave him be"

"what a ****"
"he's alright"
"not really"

"what's his problem?"
"he thinks the world is out to get him"

do they think i cannot hear them?
whispering about me so blatantly

it's as if they've forgotten i have ears
or maybe they just don't care anymore.

if so, we're more alike than they'd care to admit
for i too have long since lost the ability to give a ****.

some family.