"I want you to be happy. I want whats best for you, even if that doesn't include me."
How does one reiterate the same repetitive verse?
Again and again.
Over and over.
A torturous merry go round.
You wanted me happy?
Why did you reach out again?
Are you not really sick of the recurring events?
Why kick up the dust, why pick at the scab?
Rather, let it die.
A cold, slow, quiet death.
You are out for blood,
It seems my veins have dried.
YOU ARE READING
When We Became Strangers
PoetryA compilation of letters to you that you'll never find and a nod to those whom feel the same.
