You Don't Love Anything

You Don't Love Anything
blank/free
12-11-11
8 stanzas

you never wrote me a song,
and from what my numbed mind
will allow me to recollect,
we've never even kissed.

what i can recall distinctly
is the feeling of confinement
as i made you feel better
while you hung me out to dry.

i can remember all the places:
your room, the car, the park.
i can close my eyes and see
your mom's little living room.

it's almost like i was just there.
like just yesterday we had slept
on the couch at your sister's place
after a day in your home town.

i can see all of their happy faces,
but it may as well have been a dream.
i don't even remember how it felt
to hold your hand. not at all.

i gave and i gave and i tripped
over all of the strewn wrapping paper.
and honestly i can't seem to name
one beautiful thing you left here.

next to you, every sugary moment
was followed by sour accusations
and the pressing anvil of anxiety.
you never cared about me, did you?

as you go about your lonely days,
my vengeful head is quenched by your sorrow.
there is no song to be heard. not even now.
you don't love anything but yourself.