creatively dead, laying in bed to feel unalive again. aches and sores and roses for stupidity down and around. the dark tells me why I want to follow a fool and be swallowed by your misunderstanding sundering and plundering.
I don't like you, who fakes like a faker faked. who cries about lies twice told by someone who isn't real, who isn't actual. I don't like you being there where I can't see you objectify my existence, and make me think twice about who I am.
I don't like you who can tear me down and stand tall, a damn dame who owns not a single mirror.
but I don't hate you, though I'd love to, though I ought to. it's easier not to. it's easier to move on and let you rot a bitter memory, than let you fester in false prominence. because I didn't lose you, you who can't even find you, yourself.
so shut up.
you're blatantly spouting foul falsities about idiocy twice gained, unaware of honesty and self awareness.
so shut up, and don't bother me until you wake up. wake up and realize the difference between who we are, how we are.
but since no one ever will, let's just leave this a bridge once burnt, and never one rebuilt.