I toy with the idea of you in my bed.
I wonder if you’ve ever thought of me like that.
If you have and we’re on even footing
or you haven’t
and that makes me worse.
I’m killing you. I’m killing you.
I look you in the eyes while I break your heart
and the only kindness I give
is that afterwards I look away.

It felt pure to me when it started.
Real, like it probably is for other people.
I felt I had accomplished something,
that I wasn’t just useful.
you wanted to be my friend.

I worry kissing you would feel like
kissing my brother. I worry
if I tell you that
you’ll have to fight the urge to roll your eyes.
It makes me feel young, not...