Eleh

to the most recent douche to break my heart, i know it’s not your fault. i’ve been told enough times that the blame lies primarily in the differences between the two of us. i am not what i seem—you had no idea what you were signing up for. when i write poems about lying in bed all day, i am not doing anything you would classify as fun. i am counting dust molecules in the air. i am counting out the number of times in a minute that i think my heartbeat will stutter in its strut. i am counting backwards from one hundred, breathing out on the evens and in on the odds. i am counting down the days until you leave me. don’t