...

Do you even still love me?
I can't help but think that
maybe we are falling apart,
like the spine of a book.
One that we've read over
a thousand times and gotten bored of
because we know how each other ends
You know that I will smother you
And I know that you will run
And even though I know this
I track down your inky footprints
with my pillow in tow
in hopes that by suffocating you
I will take your breath away
like they do in the movies.
But we are not actors and we read no script
This bleak romantic comedy
seems nothing but a tragedy
for I have nothing romantic or funny to say
all I have is the truth in that
I feel like maybe we made a mistake
So while you place your shoes by the door,
I will sleep with my pillow  on the floor,
waiting for us to lather, rinse, and repeat
the same **** cycle
that never washes clean
Never knowing if you will run away
for good next time
Never knowing if we were fated for others
Is that why you run? To find someone else?
Is that why I push? To put you through hell?
I can't answer these questions
all I know is I'll always have
my pillow

...
maybe I should just smother myself


...