you. and her.

My heart has been broken x amount of times by you. You make me want to take beautiful poetry and shatter it into n o t h i n g. Y o u m a k e m e f e e l d i s t a n c e d from everything, even myself. You make me feel worse than empty. Worse than isolated. You make me feel useless. You used me. What does she have that I don't? Her. I hear her name drip down from your lips like poison. Muttering those syllables, everything is in slow motion. I hate how it rolls off of your tongue so effortlessly. Her. her. her. Like I am zero and I don't exist. Like I'm nothing and I don't matter. Like I'm rudundant and I don't give a fuck because you make me want to destroy everything. Colourful, ornate, and poetic diction become nonsensical ramblings, merely letters on a page. That's how you make me feel. You make me want to destroy art. Your face is a dartboard. I see it and I remember that you still exist. That even though I try to erase it from my memory, you're still out there, walking, breathing, but with someone else. Kisses for you are a loan, not a gift. Your lips. They lie to me. And you are only temporary.