With arms around you I make love to myself. Outside the leaves are changing with the ode of Autumn, And the rain sings my favorite grey old song, But I don’t think it sings for me. You look up at me as if this all means anything, While I hate everything i do to you, And I will not tell you my name, But I don’t think you’d care to know it. You’ll be done with whatever this is soon enough. Our ****** vignette of nothingness. You put your nails in my back like you’re supposed to, I kiss your neck as I imagine I probably should. We act out love like the marionettes we are, But we will garner no applause.