I feel like I’m a fake,
I could never match up to you.
You spun words into constellations
that I could never conceive
only when I read them I knew
your thoughts were different.
There were times when
you wrote about me
but now you are blossoming
without me
and I am nothing but thorns.
Maybe I don’t need you
but you will always run through
my blood as ink or poison
or alcohol
sadly, you don’t need me.