Yesterday, 03:36 PM
On Paparazzi
A narcissist or psycho killer
is the same: they tell themselves,
If I can’t have her, no one can.
This makes no sense to me:
when the one I love has gone, I can’t hate them
at all. It almost feels like winter
with so many owls talking to each other
through the branches of the oak outside my bedroom,
but the moon still grows around the leaves
exactly as it should. I think of them falling
for someone else and throw a glass of wine against the wall
so I can wish upon the little stars.
A narcissist or psycho killer
is the same: they tell themselves,
If I can’t have her, no one can.
This makes no sense to me:
when the one I love has gone, I can’t hate them
at all. It almost feels like winter
with so many owls talking to each other
through the branches of the oak outside my bedroom,
but the moon still grows around the leaves
exactly as it should. I think of them falling
for someone else and throw a glass of wine against the wall
so I can wish upon the little stars.