I love you, I think,
but you're just too much.
Your problems aren't my life,
you're not the only person who hurts.
You go on and on about how you feel, how you're doing, how you need my help,
and I've always answered you,
I always do.
But if I say things like,
“I'm sad”, “I'm tired”, “I want to kill myself”,
what comes from you is
how you feel the same.
It's all how you're also sad, you're also tired, you always want to kill yourself.
And I do care about you.
But couldn't you care a bit more?
I'm looking for someone to listen sometimes,
I'm not always asking to be an empty hole you can tell all your ideas, your problems, your feelings to.
It's always about you.
I used to think you needed help,
and you do.
Just not because of what I thought.
You make it all about yourself and you make me feel so useless,
because no matter what I say,
I can't make you feel better.
You're taking a toll on my mental health.
But how am I supposed to just leave you? Stop being your friend?
I can't imagine the world without you.
I don't know what to do.
On my bad days,
when I tell you what I'm thinking,
the reply is always,
“that's how I feel everyday.”
As if I should be glad I'm not in as bad a situation as you.
And I guess I should be.
But I'm sick of it. I'm sick of it.
You always run from your problems.
You leave when you don't like what I'm saying.
All I'm here for is to agree with you,
to make you feel validated,
to make you feel like you're better than me.
You don't listen to me.
So why do you talk to me?
Why do you keep doing this to me?
Why do you keep making me feel like this?
But I'm scared.
If I don't react as you want to,
if I'm honest,
if I tell you how I feel about you,
you'll hurt yourself.
You'll cut yourself and hit yourself,
even kill yourself.
I don't get it.
You say you love me,
you tell me you need me,
but you treat me this way.
I don't know how to talk to you.
You hurt me.
Am I just so part of you now,
that I deserve the same abuse you throw at yourself?
Maybe you'd never lay a hand on me,
but you're hurting me through your words.
And you don't even know.
You told me you were in love with me,
but maybe after all this time,
you've gotten tired of waiting.
Maybe you hate me.
What am I going to do?
What should I do?
You're making this so hard…
YOU ARE READING
Poetry of Death
Poetry"You kept saying that you would never die, that you would live forever. But here you are, and here I am. Isn't it funny? I'm here to take your soul. Did I mention, I love my job? Oh right! I never told you. I'm the reaper who will reap your life." B...
