I’m addicted to thigh gaps
The right lighting on the right pic of the right ass
To light taps of my foot, scrolling between nine apps
To the hopeless dissonance of the exact line that you lie at
To the smug superiority of judging you for what you cry about
To the tiptoeing, on birthdays, when you’re closer to dying out
To rhyme schemes that make perfect sense of our time now
To knowing exactly what you cum for
To coming just in time for a crumb, or
Some sliver of something human, but feeling dumb for
Vicariously living through you
I’m addicted to these computers
To your suitors, and why I’m not one
To my admirers, even when I don’t got one
To your response to my comment
To how we all feel closer to one another when we vomit
To how illogical it is to be totally honest
To every emotion that you fake
To introspection for introspection’s sake
To my reflection when I pass every lake
I smooth my hair and think about what it must take
To get between your thighs
