I like the word apathy
I like that I can’t see your eyes
I doubt you have any, sometimes, since you so so proudly proclaim you could never cry
You’re not a sap like me
I like smoking and drinking
I like you
I like being barefoot so my souls are black and callused
Your soul is black and callused
I like the way you lean against the wall, like James Dean
I’m sure he’s your idol, but you don’t care, remember?
I like your jet black hair, and the fact I know you have a soul despite all your hopes of hiding it
I like the word apathy
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