Does he hear when i cry?
quietly, god so pathetically in the library?
quietly, so consumingly when i fall asleep, alone, always alone and cold?
Does he know i'm not stupid?
that i know that no one really cares?
even when they say they do?
beware of men bearing gifts
Does he know that i'm aware?
that i'm aware that i'm alone?
that i know my cross to bear is mine?
Does he know that i'm already broken?
and have been for years?
The shards that my life has made of me wrapped delicately in tape?
Or does he just see the packaging like everyone else and assume i'll be okay?
Nobody knows and now he joins them
so harsh so piercing so real so truthful
actions speak louder than words
that voice speaks volumes
the actions scream indifference
All the answers are no
romance is bullshit
a childish memory...a pacifier for what is real
leaves a shell of a shell of a shell and no one hears
And even if they did, they'd pretend they cared and move on
always nothing special
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