nothing of importance

i keep two lists in my dresser he broke

the first is called ‘me’ and the second 

is called ‘you’

the one for me has fourty eight pages of truth

one for my legs 

and my skin

and my brain

my prefrontal cortex

this list goes on for forty five pages more

you can flip through them and find yourself craving a longer list

more things to pack on my back

my back weighs twenty tons from that list 

the list

titled ‘you’ 

is empty

nothing lies on those sheets

i guess you don’t cry yourself to sleep

or crave the pain of a bullet in your brain

i guess your brain is clean of flaws and filled with flowers

your back is light as air while mine weighs me to the ground where i lay with a bullet in my brain