i struggle to believe anyone could
love me, because she
would only return my sentiment
in texts at 3am and on
intoxicated nights where all i
was, was a body for her to hold and
to plant kisses on high;
come morning time
she would’ve rolled over,
eyes closed, faced away.
im glad i never told her i loved her because
it would’ve been a half truth
a confession stained with bitter melancholy

hr.