i guess that’s the punishment
of being born to the first true love.
waiting until my knuckles turn fiery
and knowing you won’t even see.
hoping that maybe what they say
isn’t true for even a little bit
and not wanting to, but knowing
you’ll forget so who cares anyway.
and maybe something unpredictable
lives in your stomach like the rains in
april and you haven’t really figured it out yet,
but i still hope that one day you will see what
you’ve done to me.
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