The Guy

You’ve entered BK, door squeak heard in the kitchen.

I stop my talking but commence internal bitchin’.

I’ve better things to do than feed your fat face.

I see you. I freeze. I’m stuck in one place.

Guy. It’s you with red-tipped highlights and girl on your arm.
They fit you. The hair anyway, not the girl. Drop her. Dump her.
She may look pretty and put out but she’s not the girl for you.
Nice hair though. It suits you. Everything suits you, except me.

Years spent pining internal angst, knowing what could never be between us,
Though something between us is hindered by just you because I’m ready.
I want it. Don’t need it, but it’d be nice. I bet she’s getting it because she’s a girl.
I’m not. Dumb whore gets everything, I bet.

I’ve expressed about the feelings, my feelings,
You choose to ignore, act like we’re still friends.
Act like… nothing.
You’re still a slight bit of everything to me though.

Your grin is a beam of light meant to cut through any plight that I may feel.
Always smiling at me as if I’m telling a joke, you’re awaiting the punch line.
Punch line? I love you! Want to be with you! Don’t you get it?
You won’t get it, I assume. How can you?

I know you’ll not change just for me.

It would or could happen naturally

But it won’t, I’ve accepted but deep down inside

Is where the thoughts stem and make me confide

That I hope you’ll open your eyes one day. I truly do.
Like, I’ll finally get the punch line across and you’ll laugh.
You’ll get it and then I’ll get it and then we’ll have it.
We’ll be there, but I’m guessing it won’t happen.

You fulfill me in ways you’ll never comprehend,
Complete me now with just your presence although I’m contradictorily incomplete.
Like a hollow spot in my chest just behind my fast-beating heart.
Your heart belongs there. The beating might steady then; pulse stop racing.

Kentucky Derby in my veins. You can’t complete me? I beg to differ.
If you would reciprocate, I’d be able to show you how it fits.
How we fit. How all life could fit between you and me, Guy.
I just wish it could happen in real life rather than in my fantasy-head.

Every time I see you, talons vice around my neck.
Grip chokes the life out of me, makes me pause like now.
Grip stops my heart from coming up through my throat, spewing onto you.
Love-vomit not wanted on shoe or anything else. Just exist. I’m content, I guess.

Oh shit, time’s passed: flew as you ran through my head.

Take your slut away. Good. Hope she’s soon dead.

As you walk out the door, you’re waving goodbye.

False-smiling, I feel like---