i've got an eye pressed against the keyhole, watching the two of you on the couch.
(funny how i always catch myself doing something he would do)
i can hear your laughter through the door.
𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘱.

whenever you speak, your voice walks on eggshells.
you hold words as if you're carrying fine china.
you talk to me as if i'm a starved lion, approaching cautiously as if i could pounce at any moment.
i'm more of a cat caught in the rain, but it's amusing to see you view me as a threat.
what about me warrants the shifty eyes, the bristled tail?

it's like you have no idea how unbelievably fake you are.
what is there, deep inside?
is it just mirrors all the way down?
reflections of whoever you're with, simply showing them what they want to see.
moulding to any hands that sit down at the pottery wheel.
no discernible personality. just a shell of a person. 

and you, you're never wrong, are you?
i can't stand being around you for too long.
i don't know how anyone can stand being around you for too long.
you look at the world with grey eyes and walk the earth with heavy feet.
feel free to drown in your misery,
i'll be on the beach with my hands in the sand the wind in my hair the sun in my eyes.
you could be happy if you wanted to, you know.
if you didn't show disdain for anything you didn't understand.
if you untied the anchor from around your neck.

any time spent next to you is spent chipping paint off the walls and ripping grass out of the ground,
widely boring & pointless.
it gives me something to do when talking to you is like pulling teeth.
cold medicine, cough syrup, melatonin pills.
i think i've finally figured out what you are—you're nothing.
you're really not much of anything,
are you?

ad altiora natus, semper et semper.
ex infiniate ad aeternum.
abby