i caught myself
before i caught a bad case of you
staining my sheets and making me believe
you meant when you said
i was your favorite person right now.
such a loud and pointless thought,
drenched in impermanence
lacking the resonance
that a favorite should hold
so i place you on mute,
to dull the sting of not being responded to.
i look towards the weekend,
where i'll probably miss the way you look at me,
but not the way my wallet drains a little
and the way we stumble drunkenly up my stairs
you- perfectly complacent,
i- nervous as hell that the nosy neighbors
might loosen lips to my crazy family.
i'll probably miss the way you feel within,
but not the way you're comatose in sin.
apathy is so last year,
but i won't expect you to remember
that i was your favorite right now.
but you were my favorite never.