fade to blank
this feeling is fleeting.
or sometimes i think:
i think that i am empty
like a vase with no flowers
and all of the flowers you sent to me
are dead, in a plastic-bag tomb
with your name on it
misspelled.
when you wrote me all of those letters
you misspelled the meaning of the words
i love you.
i don’t love you.
this feeling is fleeting.
but the tears are not drying
they still fall just as fast
down the highway of my face
and they splatter onto my clothing
like your boy juice
you were never good for me:
just a source of protein
for a girl that didn’t eat meat.
i wonder if she swallows
and if you cum so fast for her.
do you scream her name too?
everyone says you’re so loud.
this feeling is fleeting.
like the scouring pain of a sharp,