I like the word apathy

I like that I can’t see your eyes

I doubt you have any, sometimes, since you so so proudly proclaim you could never cry

You’re not a sap like me

I like smoking and drinking

I like you

I like being barefoot so my souls are black and callused 

Your soul is black and callused

I like the way you lean against the wall, like James Dean

I’m sure he’s your idol, but you don’t care, remember?

I like your jet black hair, and the fact I know you have a soul despite all your hopes of hiding it

I like the word apathy