You told me you liked me because I was

Someone New.

Verbatim.

I’m not sure how I thought that was a compliment, but

It gave me time to feel my novelty wear off.

Like cheap gold jewelry,

Tarnished and green,

Disposed of.

Sometimes I think you’re determined to be bored of me.

Too young, too naive.

I wear my mother’s high heels,

I curl my hair

But I’m only really pretty when you’re high.

You’re so scared of dying alone,

You’d kill me for some quiet company.

But how can I be mad

When there’s dirt under my nails

From digging my own stupid grave?