I’ve written all this poetry about you.
just letting you know,
in case you ever feel like your worst self,
that there was a time when someone wanted you so much that no amount of writing could bleed you out.
should you ever want to disappear,
know that versions of you exist in words expelled from a hopeless fantasy
and that you will never die because you were willed into art and poetry.
you’re fucked I guess.
not because I hate the way you make me feel, but because you get to live forever and to die has always been the greatest adventure.
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