You said you cared about her, yet you told me that you loved me a few days ago.

I write these stupid poems, while you write masterpiece songs. All I ever write about are your dumb brown eyes, and you write about how life isn’t fair.

Which in all ways, you’re right about.

It’s not fair that she gets to hold your hand, when I can’t. She’ll never know why your fingertips are calloused but I sit here in my bedroom, knowing exactly why.

The scars that cover your legs are voiceless to the brain of hers, but they’re screaming at mine, knowing exactly what you’ve done.

I loved you, god, I loved you. You denied my caring for you, saying that I’m pathetic to even care about you the slightest. Funny how I still stayed on the phone with you, and was still curious about how your day was and how it went.

The night you had a bullet, there was endless of thoughts in my head, tears that were consistent. Funny how later on, I found out you were just stupidly high and I was just there, but I stayed, I ******* stayed because I loved you.

I’m the one who you’re replacing, but know this; my love for you is like my love for the universe, it’s forever expanding, and always blowing my mind away.

& while you read this, know that the calls, the messages, and the reminders of how much I cared, are still true to this day, even while your spit is still on her lips. But you, my friend, can never say you loved me, not even the slightest.