I already know how this ends.
We don’t need to have a conversation about it, so don’t worry,
please don’t even try.
This ends in September with me crying in my bed,
alone in the moments when my roommates are gone,
missing you like a slowly burning pyre,
our two bodies the only fuel.
This ends with you forgetting—
don’t worry I’m not mad, it’s in your nature—
but this ends with you forgetting.
This ends with me raking my nails over my skin in guilt
because the boy I just slept with wasn’t you,
this ends with you seducing a hundred other blondes.
This ends with you fucking them and wishing it was me,
but only in the moments afterwards,
you’ll miss my soft skin, and the curtain of my hair,
and you’ll miss the curve of my lip,
but you won’t miss me.
This ends with us agreeing to keep in touch,
but I already see you slipping away,
like a slow motion bullet leaving a loaded gun.
Daydream tendencies had you smiling soft and sweet.
Keep those blurry memories somewhere safe-
you may need them.