you tell me something about how you feel,
alone. and I, say nothing. because
talking, would mean
caring. and you deserve nothing! of what
is left over, from our lo-not!. Love.

you get nothing, from the bottom
(of my heart) no nice truths,
to lull you into a false sleep.
(you will not sleep soundly on our
old smells tonight) because! I found-
the hole I left. (just under the corner of your bed)

where I raked my nails along the yellow paint,
(which quite possibly unsettled your mom)

and when I grow thin, I will shirk. through
you're walls, over my pained lines. to keep you
not that it matters,
you're not even real anymore.