I haven’t seen you cry before,
but I bet those bags have a novel attached to them.
I’ve never heard you complain once about your misfortunes,
they’re more like you’re kinda glad it’s you
because of how ****** up your relationships have become.
I haven’t been a great friend because I’m just a poet.
I’m in my feelings 24/7
and I notice the words and patterns of our typed slurs.
I haven’t been kind because you’ve talked to me in complete silence
understood every tear and sigh.
There are those who cry about being alive
and then there’s you.
Crying because life is slipping into the cracks that you’ve made in your reflection.
I’m sorry that love and misery came in a pair
when you fell into the blue of pastel colors.
You can live in my night time sky,
because what are friends for if not to be seem.