What we are
We are all replaceable
Out there
is someone who is just as funny as you are,
just as kind,
just as great to hang
out with,
but prettier
and maybe a better cook.
Out there
is someone who is better in bed than you are,
better at blowing dicks,
probably
even richer
and with bigger tits.
Out there
is someone who can not only listen,
but talk and reply,
someone who can sing their heart
out
and eat girls out
better than you do
and someone who bakes cookies at 2am
instead of crying in the shower.
Out there
is someone who smells just like you,
but sweeter,
but sweeter,
less like desperation
or cheap perfume,
who has brighter eyes,
shinier hair
and
softer skin than you.
Out there
are millions of people
who are better than you in every single way,
even
better at just existing,
and the funny thing is,
out there is at least one
person,
who’s even a better you.
Just as
happy as you are,
you laugh the same way,
about the same thing,
your thighs
feel the same way
when they are wrapped around him.
There will
always come someone else along,
someone better,
someone new.
You are
just ordinary
and we are all replaceable.
But so is
he.
We’re not nothing
We don’t like each other,
we never hang out,
we never
kiss,
we never hold hands,
we never argue,
we never talk.
It's never enough,
not enough to mention it,
but it's too much to explain,
too much to handle.
we don’t think about it,
we don’t feel,
we don’t reflect and
we just forget,
we don't connect,
we never touch,
we only lie naked on top of each other
and
sleep side by side.
We don’t lie about it,
because it’s nothing,
it’s a
few hours,
a handful of body parts,
dirty water going down the drain
two bottles of bodily fluids,
awkward eye contact
and a bitter after taste.
We don’t label it,
it’s laziness,
it’s work,
it’s comfortable,
it’s exhausting,
it’s calming,
it’s tempting,
it’s disappointing,
it’s exiting,
it’s fun, hope and regrets.
We don’t enjoy each other,
your taste in movies is
shit,
my taste in men sucks as well,
we’re getting over a heartbreak,
or just
trying to fall in love with ourselves,
we’re here because it makes us feel more
alive,
makes that heart beat again,
restarts as a fistful of flesh and
feelings,
not just a clock ticking in the chest,
and it pumps hot blood through
the veins again,
instead of lukewarm water.
We don’t care about each other,
we get bored and
annoyed,
we’re waiting for that one message,
we’re counting down hours,
we can’t
wait to escape.
We don’t treat each other as friends,
because we aren’t,
we’re nothing more and nothing less,
not friends,
not even nothing.
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