I've Grown Bored Of Knowing Anything

Happy birthday.

i like to think the light bulb
shares more with me than just incandescence
i like to think that my scorched finger
has marked her with a tiny frostbit print

i don't care if she likes it
i just want her to know it's there
so then i can know it's there
because she says it is there
it's there, right?

i don't care how trite it is to say
that it's always in the dark that i come alive
the black fingertips i drag, like lips across mirrors,
smudge the light that lives inside our reflections

i can't remember the youthful eagerness of self-belief

now it takes so long for me
to realize i'm merely bleeding
when i believe she's getting wet

i don't really care if i like it
because she's not really there