Our Way Out

all my words belong to her, but she's rarely on my mind.

I am the blood pooling in her fingertips
when it's three in the morning
and she's on some other guy.
I know she thinks of me
as much as I do of her.
She is a parasite.
We are two halves of a coin,
separate but intertwined
and I hate her with every bone in my body
while she loves me with hers.

Author's Note

venting