i miss you

I miss you
So much

Your voice

The way your hair falls into your eyes

And you shake it, laughing

Your head, I mean

Pushing your hair out of your eyes

The way  you lean against everything,

Like your body isn’t

strong enough

to hold up your head

I miss your dodgy taste in music

And the fact that

Everything you wore

Would be black

Or grey

Except for a pink bobble on your wrist

That I think you must have nicked off me

In year 8 or something

And just

Never given back

Which is so like you.

Except it’s not like you

Because you were never really there

Just the blank canvas onto which

I push my thoughts

So that my shitty poetry

Can have a subject,

A romantic lead

And I am so, so lonely

‘Even in the midst of  a crowd’

Except that is boring and overdone and so is everything I write, now,

Short lines of nonsense about people who do not exist

And never did and never will

Unless I’m writing about death

In which case my cliches are at least true, truthful, honest.

My poems are nothing

And neither am I.

Which isn’t cliche at all, I’m sure.

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