I gave you so much importance.
I had no idea who you were.
We never crossed those limits.
And I wouldn’t have.
And yet you terrified me.
Wanting to be in your presence.
As decoration, a few hours, neglecting what mattered.
I pretended around you.
Wanting to lose myself.
Jumping into a new net of expectations.
They’d never be met.
You meant nothing to me and yet I made you matter.
Something inside of me felt weak and under attack.
Why please you when I considered you the most uninspiring
And uninteresting people in the world?
I already had so many better things on my mind.
But there would always be those nights
Where I wanted to be someone else and those
Dreadful dry mornings when your square metre horizons
Clashed with the real world that I lived in.
You were a carnival of pretence and ignorance,
Silly games and debauchery and pseudo stallion power trips.
I had never been more bored yet in the middle of it all.
Faking myself. Trying to blend in with you. Presumably entertained.
I never understood what I had been doing there with you.
You had absolutely nothing to say in a conversation.
You just wanted to celebrate and die one night at a time, bit by bit.
Nothing on your mind.
What depressed me was the sheer absence of dreams in your face.
The rotten things that came out of your loud mouths.
The way you presented yourself to the world.
The lack of ideals and knowledge and empathy.
No, nothing, your eyes were blank, just you and your circus.
And yet you all acted like you rocked the universe.
You only had your bony fists, your parents’ money in your pockets,
Your brands and way too much alcohol on your breaths.
Blind to each other. I’d observe you.
Never belonging there with you.
How you pissed on the world.
On women. On education. On matters of substance.
And it hurt to see girls applauding you whilst you bullied them.
They just wanted to get as close to a copy of a copy of love as
They possibly could.
They’d cash in all the cheating and humiliation.
They just couldn’t stay alone.
Misery and constant heartache entertained them at least,
Gave them the impression that they somehow mattered after all,
Attaching themselves to these pretentious vile baby boys
Who’d always think that they’re in charge.
And I’d discover the fragile pride on the girls’ faces,
Yes, I judged, and at times I’d stand on the very same edge,
And judged myself
But I’d rather fall on my face a million times before resigning to that.