I hate your hair. The way you never talk out loud.
I would think you had Asberger's if someone told me so.
I've talked less to myself over the past five months than words to you.
I hate the way you don't bite your nails.
Your skin, it's smooth and well polished, it bothers me,
I hate your brown eyes, they've confused me. They have never made me
laugh. If smiling was it, I hate you for it. I hate your absence, the abscess,
you are a pull in my groin a tremble in my voice.
When you drop by in my unexpected, I tear up, skin-dry
and an extra pack of cigarettes to get through seeing you, five
extra dollars I have to spend. I hate knowing that their is a girl like you,
why did you have to go being so goddamned fucking perfect?
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