At night,
when the sea is still,
you can't tell sky from water,
and everything is
convoluted mirrors
spiraling away into darkness:
an abyss of serpentine stars,
warping the night sky
into a kaleidoscope
of constellations.
The sky is full of stars,
and I get the euphoric sensation
that I am floating in space,
suspended in stellar time
with nothing but oblivion
and pinpricks of light
around me.
Somehow,
this brings me comfort.
It is reassuring
to pretend as though
I am significant
in this world.

I'm not angry,
not even annoyed,
I'm simply hurt.

Do I mean so little
that you enjoy
playing games with
my heart?

It hurts that sometimes
you care, and other
times you couldn't
give less of a ****.

Sometimes I'm your
sunshine,
and sometimes I'm
the rain on your
parade.

In the end, I know
that it's my fault,
I'm the one giving
you the power to
break me.