Care

You're bored.
You don't know what to do.
So you cloud your mind with smoke and false highs.
Getting drunk, no ties.
Hold no respect for yourself even though you're proud.

We vowed.

We loved.

Then you ripped up my feelings like the paper no good for your joint.
But you don't care. You make your point.
You sleep with my friends.
Tell them you love them, tell them you care.
Even though you can't even be bothered to cut your fucking hair.

What gives you the right to steal pieces of heart, which sparked, for you?

Like, you know what you do.
With the way your hips thrust.
With the bruises on my neck. Each peck.
Sending tickles up my spine. Each time.
It was divine. It was rare.

But you don't even fucking care.
You're bored.
You don't know what to do.

E.T.