About a fucboi

I wrote some poems
as a precursor to this
fuck up
most of them
regarding the futility
of whatever this was
Shortly after you babbled
you love me
all intentional
it sounded like a lie.
I was fool enough to lie back
and let your fingers pry
my mouth open
hissing out devotion
thin
airy
like a can of soda.

you’re dangerous
with your words.
No one would accuse
that lacerated tongue
of laziness
but they’d call you a broken record
I was polite enough to bare
grinning
the 50th mention
of fruit bowls.

And I let you do all the crying.
Cus even if I’m hurt
you’re always more hurt
right?
Your will to power is a grief competition
Right?

the words came out
i wanted to disappear.
But i was stuck on your bed
as you slept infant like
post a good cry.

I wanted to break something.
I almost did.

I wanted to write
“Fuck You”
in period blood on your wall

But that would make me too much your type.

I wanted you to wake up
to share in my grief
But you tortured poor soul
are too accustomed to be the sad one
How dare I put my name in the reins

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s