Think harder and you'll notice

all the things

I hate

about you;

the way you talk

as if everything is so

important;

the way you act

as though your words

are rich

with gold;

th way you look

when you say that you

love me

more.

 

You're probably right.

 

I hate your eyes

your taste

the immature way you act when

I seem to please you.

You're so closed-minded

in a way I

never knew.

My "limited" experience

might be furthered by

our own experiments,

but you only want

positions,

techniqes,

clean;

different things I can do

while you keep going.

 

And I am exhausted

I pretend to be pleased

sometimes,

but I'm so dry now.

 

No it doesn't feel good.

No I don't want to be your visual.

I want to give you my words

but I guess they aren't​ good enough.

 

You act as if you don't notice,

but I think you see it;

the gravity is bringing me

down

so that I'm no longer "high"

on your love.

 

You could never get enought

of that goddamn weed

that you blame it

you blame others

for your own decisions.​

"They convinced me," you confess

but all I hear is

"I needed an excuse."

Addiction is hard to beat

when you're so used to

running away

by floating up

on the smoke billowing

from your mouth.

 

I used to think

that you were freedom;

next to you,

I was caged.

Then I realized that

my "cage"

were the arms of those

who loved me;

their protection,

their comfort,

their emotions

had kept me alive.

 

Your love was close to my mouth,

flowing through my ears,

warm like honey

and soft like clovers,

but shallow as the clam

whose shell dipped lightly in the water.

 

Why do you do this

to yourself?

You have a job,

you have (had) friends,

you have people

who love, feel, care

for you.

But we are who you blame

when you explain

to the others

why you were late,

why you couldn't sleep,

why you're angry,

why you're crying.

 

Take responsibility

for who you are.

It feels much better

than giving away

your lies,

your emotions,

you life.