I feel sick.

Just a bad call, 
it's so funny
how you think I'm so serious, 
but that's not it
The thing is I don't give enough to give a fuck
You're just plain boring 
and you bore me asleep.



It happened again.
He's leaving.
And I'll never see him again.
I wish you would just stop breaking my heart.
But it's my fault for opening up.
I never should have let you in.
How could you do that?
I let you open my doors, thinking you would block the cold.
But you left the door wide open and swinging on its hinges,
letting the frozen winter inside after you.

The space you left inside me is shaped just like you.
When you were gone, you took my insides too.
The sides slid down the pit but still there stays a hole.
And now I have nothing to fill the gap.
Because you were like no other.
Thanks so much for being one in a million, man.
Now this void is here forever.

I can make up dozens of words for "void" without a thesaurus.
It's as a part of me as my ringfinger. It's my third ventricle.
I don't mean to blame you for the grave in my chest.
It was there before you.
But I was filling it before you came and when you left, you made it deeper.
The spade I used went with you too, so now I push the dirt with my hands.