I prefer the sky when it’s the color of milk
with a drop of ink mixed in. I admit:
I am lonely.
Giving up seems like the easiest way
when my heart breaks and mends in a
thousand ways every day.
My troubles are lost on you
like the brightest balloons drifting
upward, and away. diminishing
You never cared
Or really paid much attention
And again I relish in the exquisite pain of
your perpetual rejection.
I play “Foolish Games,”
Jewel has a Swiss face and likes the color of
wine, probably writes songs on napkins like
you used to draw on at restaurants
back when we belonged together.
this isn’t what it should feel like.
I wait constantly and patiently
for the smallest reward, faithful as
I’m muted by the gradual loss of
Sunlight and the pointed lack of caring in
your words of afterthought or distraction
but it doesn’t stop my tears.
Ever persistent, I fucking want you still.
I will forever be your last choice,
and you will forever be my first.