I am your nothing.

I am just one of the many who’d crawled to you, desperately needing, wanting, savouring: I know, and you don’t need to lie to me. While your name is carved onto the very fibre of my being, what is mine to you?

            (The wind will blow it away.)

It’s a guilty pleasure of mine, even though I know the satisfaction will break me in the end. You push everybody off their cracking shelves, and you watch, unflinchingly, as they hit the ground. They’ll shatter – I’ll shatter – your cheap, fragile vases: They looked good for the moment. The roses in them used to glow.

            (You poison them. One by one you watch them wilt.)

But who else knows you like I do? I was the one, by your side, who watched the girls grind their pathetic bodies against yours. I watched the brown of your pupils change from a mellow depth to a glazed-over steeliness. You are not the same, but am I still the naïve, ignorant boy you professed to love, to keep in your heart forever?

            (Did you – Do you see my tears?)

I watched, alone and scared, in my silent acquiescence. Everybody is a disposable. They’ll come clawing at you, so needy, wanting so much. You will use them. And you will throw them out the window the morning after – they don’t matter, nobody ever mattered, not even me, the one you could leave breathless from the slightest touch. What happened to you? Two years ago, you would have scorned this nature. Two years ago, you would still be embracing me.

            (What happened to you? All of you reeks of something that’d died. Your face, though charming from essence to lineament, has hardened.)

So I succumbed to the inevitable. I became one of them. I am one of them: And you don’t care. The years we spent became buried underneath the ground, nailed down with the hard pieces of your heart. I grasped your body harder than the rest, I cried longer than the rest, and I loved you stronger than the rest.

But I am still your nothing.

            (How many girls have you brought to the same bed? How many times have you slammed into it, how many –)

I am your nothing, yet you are my everything.

A/N- I have this thing for crappy angst. I think it's unhealthy.