The List

I'm able to do a lot but not as much as you. Your abilities are as effortless to you as you are mean to me. You show up and it’s nothing to you. Zero fucks given.

You don’t take things in. Everything rolls off of your indifference. Go ahead: talk and talk without draining yourself.

You don’t need recovery time like me, not even from being an asshole. It must be exhausting to your conscience. But you’ve learned to turn it off because it makes you feel bigger than me.

I see you blinking back at me through the pixels on the screen. So smug, so sure of yourself.

Sometimes I feel bad that you can’t see yourself. But oh how I can.

I imagine what I’d get away with if I couldn’t see my own reflection like you… and I make a little list.

Instead of admiring those fangs, I’d cut bangs without regret.

I wouldn’t be ashy. I’d think: sexy.

The depths of my beady, black eyes would only know the colors of the world, never their own darkness.

No wonder you don’t care what you say or do. You’re burdened by nothing outside of yourself. It’s not just evil but so unfair.