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hello, i'm brooke you say, half smiling, and i'm here to welcome you to the world of disposable people.

i'm really lost as to what i should say to you. because all i can think about is earlier last week, when i told a girl i couldn't love her because i had nothing to save her from and how my cheekbones are sharp like knives and they cut through the hearts of so many, right after we kiss and i say i can't.
but you don't really care that i don't respond. you guide me along, on this tour of disposable people because i guess i'm one of you now. honestly, i think you're sort of cute,
for a disposable.
have you been talking this whole time?

-and my dad has only a year to live. both my parents will be dead soon.
and i say that i'm sorry, but secretly i'm happy that you've said this, because it makes me feel less alone.
the next few weeks flew by, and then i told people that i had a crush crush crush on you because you had long black hair and you couldn't figure out how to tie your apron and you liked to tease me about how you're the smartest girl in the whole world, but you don't even understand what i say when i quote shakespeare or freud or huxley. it happened to be later that day, that you told me you were going to die soon too, because it turns out both your parents have cancer and you might as well smoke every day because you're going to die soon anyways.
and i tell you not to say that.

oh well.
the way you are fascinates me, because you see, you are just apathetic, or maybe just pathetic, i sure can't tell the difference, but i think i'm attracted to both. or maybe i'm just attracted to the way you make me tie your apron, and i just want to put my hands on you and pull you in and kiss your neck, but i don't. i tie your apron and you tell me to untie it again, so i do.

so, why are you disposable? she says to me. and i hesitate. mostly because i don't know what to say.
because i was born to be alone.

liar you say, and grab my hand.

why do you always make yourself seem like a bad person in your poems?
because, i was born to be a bad person disguised as a good person.
your turn to hesitate.

isn't that what we're all born to be?
and i look down
because i think i'm falling in love with you
and all i can think about is how in three or four years, you'll be dying in a hospital room to the buzz of a television and the smell of disinfectant and the sight of me, still unsure what to say. you will die a painful, long death and i won't know what to say, because do i ever?
i'm scared because i already knew that this is exactly what life had to throw at me, and now that it's here, i don't know what to do. say.
and if God is real, then he will help me to kiss you and say i can't.
help me lie to you, so you don't have to hurt any more than you already will.

Description
hello, i'm brooke you say, half smiling, and i'm here to welcome you to the world of disposable people.

i'm really lost as to what i should say to you. because all i can think about is earlier last week, when i told a girl i couldn't love her because i had nothing to save her from and how my cheekbones are sharp like knives and they cut through the hearts of so many, right after we kiss and i say i can't.
but you don't really care that i don't respond. you guide me along, on this tour of disposable people because i guess i'm one of you now. honestly, i think you're sort of cute,
for a disposable.
have you been talking this whole time?

-and my dad has only a year to live. both my parents will be dead soon.
and i say that i'm sorry, but secretly i'm happy that you've said this, because it makes me feel less alone.
the next few weeks flew by, and then i told people that i had a crush crush crush on you because you had long black hair and you couldn't figure out how to tie your apron and you liked to tease me about how you're the smartest girl in the whole world, but you don't even understand what i say when i quote shakespeare or freud or huxley. it happened to be later that day, that you told me you were going to die soon too, because it turns out both your parents have cancer and you might as well smoke every day because you're going to die soon anyways.
and i tell you not to say that.

oh well.
the way you are fascinates me, because you see, you are just apathetic, or maybe just pathetic, i sure can't tell the difference, but i think i'm attracted to both. or maybe i'm just attracted to the way you make me tie your apron, and i just want to put my hands on you and pull you in and kiss your neck, but i don't. i tie your apron and you tell me to untie it again, so i do.

so, why are you disposable? she says to me. and i hesitate. mostly because i don't know what to say.
because i was born to be alone.

liar you say, and grab my hand.

why do you always make yourself seem like a bad person in your poems?
because, i was born to be a bad person disguised as a good person.
your turn to hesitate.

isn't that what we're all born to be?
and i look down
because i think i'm falling in love with you
and all i can think about is how in three or four years, you'll be dying in a hospital room to the buzz of a television and the smell of disinfectant and the sight of me, still unsure what to say. you will die a painful, long death and i won't know what to say, because do i ever?
i'm scared because i already knew that this is exactly what life had to throw at me, and now that it's here, i don't know what to do. say.
and if God is real, then he will help me to kiss you and say i can't.
help me lie to you, so you don't have to hurt any more than you already will.