I keep writing about you
They tell me my words are beautiful.
I don't know why
Maybe because they are written about you.
But what they don't know
What you don't know is that I stare blankly, And all I can feel is fucking rage, anger,
and frustration because I write down these things
And it never comes close to what I really feel.
If actions could be transferred to words,
I would write me standing in the shower while the scorching hot water burns my skin as I think about you.
Then I would write me turning off the shower in total defeat
Because I realized I will never have you.
I would write how a fire starts in my chest whenever I see someone else making you smile.
I would write how my eyes burn as I continue to stare at the goddamn ceiling for so long at 3 am thinking about how you'll never know how I feel.
I don't even know how to fucking end this
Because there is no poetic way to say I feel like fucking shit.
. . .
