"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 ****