your books were boring
and your music was boring
and your words were boring
(if you ever had anything to say)
but those lips
and those eyes
they were enough
because, what are humans?
why, we're
nothing more than parasites.
shallow and vapid
always looking for
validation
(much like a parking ticket)
I couldn't care less about the
endless dribble you called conversation
I'd part your lips with my fingers
(Who has time for talking anyways)
I liked the way you did your hair,
and the ways you'd slip into my thoughts periodically throughout the day
as if on a timer.
And if I cared enough,
I may come to find things
that I actually like about
you
but as I said
What are humans if not lust-driven parasites
living only to survive and conquer all?