of rants and poems.

what do I mean

but what the fuck am I to you?

because sometimes I'm so, so sure.

sure I mean something to someone

sure I can link arms with you

and sure I can go up town with you

but then there's the silence.

there's you saying you have nothing left

that nothing can get you through-

while I stand there,

soaking in every word you say.

as if I am part of the nothing 

I'm part of the dull life that you hate living

and I don't know how to fix you.

honestly.

we promised each other to stop.

and to start over with a new year.

but here's us

you still in the same mindset

saying little things that are bringing me down

making me think that silence is a

"leave me alone."

"I'm too busy to talk to you."

or a

"fuck off."

and sometimes I believe that

and other times I see you say

"that's everything to me. you don't understand."

"I couldn't live without it."

and you're serious,

as if I don't get that feeling

the feeling I have about you

and it kills me.

maybe it's because you're angry or upset and maybe you forget

maybe you forget that you said that

or maybe I overreact

or maybe everything that we said we'd try to do over,

fix in ourselves,

is a fraud.

and maybe I should stop trying.

because no longer

am I sure 

of what exactly I mean to you.