happiness is a warm gun

You don't - 

because of the way I still have to repeatedly

turn my pillows and quilt inside 

out

to hide the proof of me never

getting the chance, of me rotting;

stench, taste, my patheticness.

You don't -

because of the constant 

misjudgements and words that

should not be said, words that

leave me drenched in self-exhaustion

self-mutilation

because you say them anyway.

You don't - 

because I feel my fingers shaking

I can't even read what I write, but I write to 

stop my heart exploding like

kitchen gas

yes, everything is tasteless again.

You don't -

like ugly sarcasm where you

tower above me, hiding your hurt by

laughing at mine, you don't because

you leave - always.

You don't - 

because I ignore them when they

speak to me; I only hear

your voice, words, everything

and they are not real.

You don't -

too many questions in a list

I have already answered since the

day you took my broken heart 

from me to 

sew together,

and you did, then,

trust me.

------------------------

Alternate title: Honesty is a lonely word