Thinking Outrageously Good Things About Outrageously O.K. People

Really, I’m not sure what exactly I was expecting, looking for answers in your fragmented breaths. I’ve spent much more time than I’m proud of trying to look at you through a rearview mirror instead of a foggy window. I’m a lot better at missing you than I am at caring for you, or even treating you like a person, and that’s probably because when I miss you, you don’t have to be around to witness it.
What I'm trying to say is, I hummed songs when you were around and tricked myself into believing that you knew the words. I don’t think you were listening, but if you are now, know this: You are the cup of coffee I drink at 7pm when I’m searching for a legal way to make myself suffer. When you touch me, I feel like I’m being run over, and not even lethally. You undo everything in your wake and, quite frankly, I can’t survive with my veins strewn about the floor anymore. We’re both at fault for this, but you’re making it so much worse. It’ll be better if you just go.

This poem is about: 
Me

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