Every time I feel nothing I wish I felt anything at all
Tonight I feel longing and loneliness
And i take it back
Anything but the beginning of another broken love poem
I wanted to hate everyone else and take time to try to be content with myself
But every time I see an insect I think of ******* on a park bench
Leaves stuck to my back
I wish I felt nothing
I was getting used to (content with myself alone wanting bones)
I still want my bones to show harder
Paper skin
But I like the friction another flesh outline provides.
I hate that I ever want anything