Boy Meets Boy
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Time after time, I’ve told you that I’m not okay. You think this is all a joke, nothing serious. You don’t know how it feels like to be so frustrated with yourself, to question your sanity every single day. And all you do is talk—-which is cheap. Recently, you have been telling me about your new friends a lot. You tell me about their relationships, that you cry with them and things that I really don’t give a fuck about. I listen to the advice that you give them and wonder why can’t you offer some that are just as good to me. You complain about feeling left out, but you still return to them. You want to know what the feeling of being left is like? It’s when that one friend you have stops giving a fuck about you. It doesn’t seem to bother you though. It’s because you have them now, don’t you? Your life seems to go on as normal. Ironically, just two short years back, you were the one worrying about me finding new friends and neglecting you. Everything that we’ve had throughout all these years obviously don’t mean as much as you say they do. That’s fine. Go ahead and be with them then, since you enjoy their company much more than mine. I’m also sure they are way better friends than I could ever be. I don’t care anymore and you don’t too. Don’t you dare say you do because if you did, I wouldn’t be typing this right now.
So, this is me—-giving up.
This is a bad dream;
one that is haunting, unrelenting.
I want to wake up from it.
But strangely, I only wake up
when I go to sleep.
Is being nothing but asleep
under the earth that we step on
the only way
I can stop feeling sad?
Like a rock in a stream,
water runs over me;
weathering away my sanity.
Lodged, unmoving.
I may not drown,
but I know
soon I will be sediments;
nothing but soil.
