Writers or Thieves

I feel bad for whoever falls in love with me
or with anyone who writes of their lovers like they are some tool
that we can use to build a mountain of words to surround them with.
And we build just to show others, the audacity is sickening.
Like a saw we will cut you down, your words into pieces
and your secrets so small they slip into that grey area I call public domain.
We will take everything you do and display it for the masses.
If you're connected to my writing and I,
your life will become scrap paper marked in bad handwriting
and halfhearted, oft-forgotten lines as I drive in my car,
as if you were simply that easy to forget.
Each conversation we have I'll listen but not to you,
instead I'm listening for things to steal, to strip away from our dialogue.
I've stolen from everyone I've ever slept with and even more from those I've loved.
You never think about it while it's happening and you don't realize it until it's already done with.