sticky tears  
clog my colorless cheeks and
stain the corners of my eyes like
wrinkles, unnecessary

nothing really matters
why am I really crying and
why’d you leave, again?

I guess driving down the pretty highway
with the trees that shaded a
hot day in an
expired June
wasn’t enough.
and I didn’t need to read about how
you don’t want to talk to me
or how you're busy
truth is, we all have **** to do
like how i sit here and cry
and how my tears clog my colorless cheeks and
stain the corners of my eyes like
crows feet, perhaps necessary

because unlike you, they'll stick around.