I am too full.
At capacity.
Feeling
seeps from my seams like
radiation from a faulty nuclear reactor.
Meltdown.
A slow motion disaster.
You have a death wish
I'll do the trick, but something
else might **** you faster.
You are so empty.
So impotent.
Like trying to start a fire when
the wood is wet.
Like soil devoid of nutrients.
Like a house no one has lived in.
Curtains drawn across your eyes like something is hiding, but
open those shades and there's nothing inside you.
Just uncomfortable silence
Unending.
Honestly,
you meant nothing to me.
You were just a lie I told myself so that I could sleep.
In complete truth,
I meant nothing to you.
There is no meaning in anything that you do.