I don’t miss you. I don’t miss you. I think about you, I try to think about you, and no good memories surface. Only the bad ones. Only the darkness and the pain and the way my fingers couldn’t bruise you no matter how hard I tried to hold on you didn’t feel it. You didn’t hear me cry because you were asleep. Unhealthy and sick, your mother was right. You didn’t fucking care- that’s all that comes to mind. How you didn’t care. How I wasn’t enough. How selfish you were. She was right, that wasn’t good. That was bad it was all bad. Horrible it disgusts me
I dont miss your eyes or your hands or your lips or the way you went down on me or your laugh or your smile.
Some of the green is still on the trees and some of the leaves are fallen fallen beautifully but the green the green is life and the fallen died and the season is changing and I can’t handle the transformation. The season of her and I is over, it was mostly winter with her and I, winter in the summer, winter in the winter. Cold bitter cold pain sadness seeping cold in the cracks of my cold cracked hands
basically i dont care if you drink smoke or do drugs as long as you can hold a conversation about something besides the fact that you drink smoke or do drugs