i love and i rage
and i buy fancy little things just to
squander
upon what it means to be -
i have this fear
of death
not of my own but of the ones i love
and yet there are moments unbearable
between us.
i make a scene and
though i’m twenty two i feel like i’m three and nobody understands me and
i drink my cocktail through a sippy cup straw
and i cry for the same ones who rip my heart apart and i realize that maybe this is better than nothing at all
i’d rather argue with them then
fight with a wall
and though it’s quite taxing
they all come around
i know that they love me, to be lost and be found.
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