i stayed up all night trying to think of the "cutest" way 
that i could possibly say the words to "win your heart," 
or a sentence that would impress. 
but instead i'll just be frank, it’s not that easy to say it to your face, 
but I’d be a liar if I didn’t say you’re so fucking fake. 
with fingers crawling on top of dry skin, is this what love / life / lust / spite feels like? 
it used to be familiar but now we forget, 
confusing comfort for happiness. 
you tried to erase “me,” and all your precious memories from human history. 
i took a month off to take care of myself but I'll make things worse in the meantime. 
keep the parts that you like the most and collect them in a bookshelf with your fractured bones. 
keep pretending and assuming and that you're concrete and ignore that you'll shatter with a single heartbeat, 
or lack thereof, apparently, as you rip apart at the seams. 
it's still getting harder to tell if you’re helpless or just useless.