"i love you, you pretentious ****." you turn around and look at me with such royalty and entitement you mumble: "tell me something i don't know." "ok." so i will. i will tell you that the moment i laid eyes on your porcelain skin, i felt as though if i even looked at it the wrong way, you'd break i will tell you that when you whisper your bloodshot apologies into my ear my skin does not crawl like it should i will tell you that the inside of your heart is a dry desert and i am trapped inside your ribcage never have i ever been so thristy for your love i will tell you that the first time you pushed me away i found myself crawling back to you you said i deserved it and i believed you so when you tell me to tell you something you don't know, i will tell you: *i hate you, you pretentious ****