[Call It]

Did you mean “this could go on forever” in a good way?
It doesn’t sound that way to me anymore.

I mean, every second already feels like fucking forever, waiting
we’ve never lived as well as we felt we were meant to.

I still believe in honesty and will mean all the things I don’t say, just
help me vomit out demeaning apologies and thoughts – must

Have a past with me: a nauseous recycling of the same plastic,
Another meandering crawl out of the white building.

If we’d had the means death would come with dignity,
meanness dripping out of you, out of us, and that’s how I knew

I didn’t mean for this end to be like we’d seen
long ago when we couldn’t say what we meant anymore,

every shuddering breath meaning nothing in the end,
the means to keep this breathing bleeding us with every in

and out of the opposite walls of the room our meaning:
I’m sure we meant well, we always mean well but I think

ignored, gasped menial words are never as loud as ourselves.
I love you.  I don’t think anyone else gets the name anymore than me.

So I want it to end.  Badly.  It’s meaningless for you:

I’m mean, and I’m selfish, and I can’t help but watch you
suffering and me never feeling quite as bad as I should.