spit out your clichés at me
and call me heartless,
devour my pessimism without an ounce of the regret that's engraved on my very bones,
chew on the crippling loneliness
that haunts my thoughts and dreams
and ***** out your stanzas of
"roses are red and violets are..."
yellow.
'cause they've never seen the sun,
they're paper thin and falling apart
so i'm focused on ignoring people telling me to look for "the one".