I'll tell you I love you because eventually everything comes around.
My resentment, fallible and mortal. A confusing smear on my face, an anger that feeds me and leaves me with a hollow chest, an empty ache forcing me to sit in the dark. A strike.
I'm confused, I'm angry, I'm hungry but anger feeds me because- fucking get over yourself.
I'm doing it.
Right now, I'll tell you, I'll tell you.
I love you.
Because why does it fucking matter if it's a lie.
Eventually everything comes around.
I won't bury this anger in a grave.
I won't mourn what I- get over yourself.
Go eat.
But I'm confused.
I'm doing it, I'm existing. It's all coming around.
I love you and so I starve because you are not here and I'm so lonely. How fucking romantic.
That your absence is a tangible loneliness and I condemn myself because I have no sense of identity or self love without you here. A modern love.
Fucking get over yourself.
I fucking hate you. And I'm angry and I'm confused and I just want to fucking eat. Just let me be. I just want to fucking eat. But your face is all I can think about. And I- could I have ever loved myself without you being a catalyst. Could I give myself that?
No. I sit here like fucking batman in the dark, brooding over how I can't bring myself to do anything. And anger, a shield for my confusion and helplessness when facing myself.
Because eventually my love for you comes back and what's the point?
Fuck you.
A/N...
It's not that srs. chill.
YOU ARE READING
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PoetryTW' trauma dumping read this in an accent, thank you. Yes, all thoughts are authentic but never original. This kills me, so I search. It would kill me less if all authenticity didn't claim healing is a forgetting through the passage of time. That t...
