infatuation is such a
filthy thing, isn't it?

carpet ripped from underneath,
you get the wind knocked
out of you as your back hits the hard ground

staring blankly at the stars
that don't care enough to twinkle,
even the moon wouldn't pay you
a second glance

not even out of pity

self mutilation is
the realization

that I like you

transmuting gold back
into useless reagents

I like you

graduating from budding
to full-blown alcoholic

because I like you

you make a blue sky
turn gray

I like you

the sun won't ever
shine the same

it knows I like you

clouded clime
perpetual rain

chemical imbalance
impoverished brain

near insane
digging a grave

you
ruin
my day
because

I like you