solace || poetry

fifty two

to me, there has always been something so unfair about you being able to chose when to leave me, when i'll forever be stuck within my own mind, unable to escape.
you get to pick apart my soul, and decide which parts of me are worth loving, when i must live with the rotten aspects of myself
i often question whether you cherish me, or if you simply admire individual qualities that you hope can be put together and create a loveable person.