Its hard,
seeing life fly by.
It leaves me behind.
I'm pretty used to it though,
mostly.
I hate seeing people,
see me,
and think badly about me.
Oh, what a whore.
Who the hell does she think she is?
Why is she here?
And I tend to see myself
asking those same,
horrid questions,
I had hated.
Call me a hyppocrite.
I don't even know what I'm trying to say with my words anymore.
Empty,
broken,
words.
I hope no one finds my words,
appealing.
Because they tear me apart.
I thought writing helped,
but it made me remember,
all those things I wanted to forget,
about you.
I guess, yes, at times I say I miss you.
But I don't know why.
Your words,
still hit my heart,
the way cheesy rom-coms do,
and the way kittens and puppies tend to.
I wish I had words,
to explain how I feel anymore.
How to even,
feel.
I miss you.
