happiness is a warm gun

You don't -
because of the way I still have to repeatedly
turn my pillows and quilt inside
out
to hide the proof of me never
getting the chance, of me rotting;
stench, taste, my patheticness.

You don't -
because of the constant
misjudgements and words that
should not be said, words that
leave me drenched in self-exhaustion
self-mutilation
because you say them anyway.

You don't -
because I feel my fingers shaking
I can't even read what I write, but I write to
stop my heart exploding like
kitchen gas

yes, everything is tasteless again.

You don't -
like ugly sarcasm where you
tower above me, hiding your hurt by
laughing at mine, you don't because
you leave - always.

You don't -
because I ignore them when they
speak to me; I only hear
your voice, words, everything

and they are not real.

You don't -
too many questions in a list
I have already answered since the
day you took my broken heart
from me to
sew together,
and you did, then,

trust me.

------------------------
Alternate title: Honesty is a lonely word