Hey you poets.
Stop making me believe in romance.
It doesn't exist.
And I know I sound bitter.
But trust me, I insist.
It doesn't exist.
But reading your pretty confessions
makes me wish it did.
And now I have this unrealistic expectation
of how I'm going to kiss.
We are pixelated people.
desiring a little more than a glance.
Romance is only fiction
on a bookshelf in a prison.
And I know I sound bitter.
But trust me, I insist
It doesn't exist.