inbox (30)

i cant seem to believe
that split ends and tight corners don't mean anything anymore.
where did we take this?
brackets and empty mailboxes, maybe.
probably nothing, but i think im supposed to tell you
(ask might be the better word)
control yourself, for christs sakes.
fucking bastard.
fucking bastard.
FUCKING BASTARD.

i ran out of things to say,
and im quite possibly full of thoughts,
but where do the words end?
being blown off and being left-out and being labeled again;
where do the words end, and where does the heart begin?
cliche, cliche, cliche.