Ditcher

You have these cattish, ocean eyes,

I’m locked on them,

So many cheekbones,

Sculpted chin

With a dimple in.

You’re like a skinny superman

But you’re too repressed for tights,

Shame, I’m sure you’d look alright.

Your hair’s a pretty colour, almost black,

It’s disappearing at the back and just here at your peaks,

But you’ve got ten thousand cheekbones,

You don’t need to worry.

I know you won’t.

You’ve got ten thousand faults as well,

You ignore me and you’re self-important,

A depressing workaholic,

And you don’t know how to love someone, especially me.

You expect my full attention, but don’t give me half of yours.

I’m incredibly patient with you, like a saint to be honest.

My friends know all about you,

How you waltz on and off my phone,

And only speak when you’re particularly alone,

Like around the time of the funeral,

When I tried my best to bring you things you needed

And you changed your mind again.

I can’t talk with you anymore,

So I pour you from my pen.

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