You're Insane Poetry/Prose

I dont even freaking know anymore

I want to know.

How much of your spare time is spent complaining about me.

How you'd just want it to be "your thing".

Is it even worth trying to talk to you?!

I love you.

You know that.

But I wonder if you feel the same way.

Because sometimes I don't think you do.

And sometimes I feel you couldn't give a fuck about me if you tried with all your might.

And it pisses me off to the highest point, when I feel alone.

Because it gives me a taste of the real world.

And I'm not ready for that.

And I don't know when I will be.