I'm the person that's just there,
you know?
Like when you grab one too many pieces of paper,
I'm that one too many.
There,
but unnecessary.
Unneeded.
Never grabbed for.
Just left,
alone.
My company consists of the countertop.
The cold, smooth marble
in relation to my pale skin
is the closest relation I have
to much of
anything
at
all.
Don't fret.
There's oxygen on my side of the atmosphere,
plenty,
so much that I want to share
with someone
like
you.
But you have your air
you reuse with your friends
and you don't need mine
like I
pray
for yours.
It's so empty,
darling.
So empty on my side of the atmosphere.
It's me,
me,
and my countertop.