I need to stop thinking of you.
I know that I mean absolutely nothing
to you.
We didn't really have anything -
a temporary nothing that was
fulfilling at the time.
Then, you decide that it wasn't for you.
You wiped your eyes clear of their
petty uncertainty,
and you throw a bewildering and
degrading "goodbye" at me.
You liar.
You accuser.
You and your imperfect expectations.
You and your turning away.
What did we have?
We had nothing.
A temporary nothing that was fulfilling
at the time.
You know I still fear you, sometimes,
right?
I'm just afraid of having to watch you
on Love's big screen,
receiving and reaping all of the benefits
that it has to offer,
while I'm left with nothing to grasp -
not even my own soul and self.
Just...cluelessly hoping.
Cluelessly waiting for you.
Your uncaring self.
ВЫ ЧИТАЕТЕ
Dear Suicide...
Поэзия(#12 in Poetry- 3/5/17 |14 in Poetry- 2/28/17 |23 in Poetry- 11/18/16) Have you ever considered picking up a pen and writing to the one you fear most? Well, that's what I've done. When I write to my fears, It's oddly satisfying, because I know that...
