Poems of a Broken Man

Letting Go.

It's been a while. It's been hell.

Hell is a funny concept. It's basically everyone's way of saying bad stuff happens and it comes from this bad place. But everywhere is a bad place, no where feels free, or open, or safe. But whatever, call it hell. 

Monday was hard. To face them and hear them lie to me was hard. After a solid 7 years, you'd think they'd know you better than that. They did not. They still lied. I'm angry.

Tuesday was harder. It's only when you see someone moving on from you that you feel you've really lost them. I didn't think it was possible she could fully ever disappear or give her time to someone else who wasn't me, but there it was. Held in the clasp of their hands, intertwined and sweet, but leaving a sour taste on my heart. "How is your heart feeling?" She asked me mere moments before the dread set in. I guess my heart had been sore since I arrived but gradually felt more and more empty as I watched. As I waited. And I suffered through the difficult step that everyone must go through. 
                                                          Letting go.

But I am angry. Not with her, but with me. I have made myself angry. I shouldn't be, but I am and I can't do anything but hate myself for it. Hate myself for going backwards, as much as she is alluring and exciting and creative and brilliant and talented and beautiful and I just cannot think of a single negative thing I could say to describe her. Except for one. Sad. She's made me sad. She's entangled me in her web with feelings and now that she's bored of me, she's moved on to fresher, taller, meatier prey. And I feel obsolete again. Unwanted, unneeded, unloved. Which makes it difficult for me to love others. Except for her, and thus, I am broken.

See you again soon