This is it. I want to break somthing
That you've given me. I
See the picture. I tear and slowly it feels therapeutic. I see the Christmas card. But I also find the musical pamphlet. It makes me think of you just like everything else in this room
This is MY house this is MY SPACE. Why are you dominating every corner of this household.
Why. Do I feel. This way.
What did you do except make me feel like shit. I'd love to hear that one.
YOU DONT LOVE HIM
ANYMORE
And you'll remember that soon.
I start to tear the holiday card it's in my hands and its putting up a fight. I manage to rip it remembering you as I do so.
THIS IS H E AL I N G
I tell myself as I turn into a nightmare. I'm not very sweet anymore I suppose. But bitterness is an acquired taste and I know that I'll fine someone that loves it.
YOU ARE READING
Poems: Aesthete
PoetryHere I churn out my guts for everyone's pleasure, trying to make pain tangible. Trying to make feelings comprehensible. Trying to be somthing.
