ihateyouihateyouihateyouihateyouihateyou

There are so many thoughts, too many. They swim, they weave, they duck and climb and claw and crawl and clench and consume.
But there is one thought that sits still amongst the chaos. From far away it looks like someone has used a bold typeface on it and maybe it's not important, goodness, maybe it's a mistake, maybe it isn't supposed to be so rigid and so thick and so attention seeking.
But it is bold for a reason, it sticks out for a reason.
And fuck I love you. iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou.
But those hands, they're all over her. And sometimes she looks like me. The hair and the skin. But nothing else. Different body, completely different. It doesn't matter though, she isn't me.

And your hands are on her.

It's a dream, I know it's a dream because I wake up and you're lying next to me and I know you belong to me.
I hate you. Not because you're rude or you're mean, but only because I don't have your body or your clothes or your voice or your telephone number or your history. And maybe, because I don't have those things, maybe I wont be good enough one day.
And because of that I fucking hate you.