what did i do wrong?
you never asked me again
for that, i’m sorry

it's sad to think you've fallen for his pretty face, and the way he walks, the way he talks, the way he keeps you up for days... it's sad to know he doesn't really care, and all of this was just a show because he's run by softwares. it's hard to wake up and face the reality that he never once existed and was only brought to life by mere imaginations and thanks to you, you've been keeping him alive.

it's sad to hear him say, "thanks for playing!" when he's your only escape amidst your tiresome journey through life.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

She was a thrifted sweater and denim and jersey knit sheets
Pizza breath and red wine and toothpaste
Alabaster skin and knotted hair and freckled shoulders
A tangible dream and my favorite good morning
She agreed to let me kiss her and I agreed to let her slip my shirt over my head before she became
Blood and tears
"I trusted you" and "I’m sorry"
Midnight poems and a drunk "I need you"
I’m afraid I loved you like the way I wrote

i still
do not know
the poem i've been trying to write
and maybe
that's because
i haven't been
writing one at all
or maybe it's because
the poem i've been trying to write
is not ready for paper
and maybe
i'm the paper
that's not ready for it