I'd like for you to be different.
It's easy to imagine,
but you're the farthest thing from simple.

I stare at my hands like an overweight, under estimated teen would look at their legs,
waiting from them to shrink.

You're filling in the empty spots, so that I don't have to.

I glare at the stars as if I could time travel one thousand years into the future, and enjoy the darkness that comes after explosions.

You're the color, bursting rays of light from your lips to my neck, where my skin absorbs all the words you never knew how to say.

I bite my lips like they won't bleed, even though I know they will, remembering teeth are beautiful, but they're sharp.

You're waisting your time trying to forget about me.

I talk too much about myself, but I don't care, because who doesn't?