This was not meant to be a poem...but if you must you may tear it apart all you like (go wild, Brad)
Death seems more desirable
Than this life I'm living.
I've already ruined my plans
(Or lack thereof)
For the future
By standing by a woman
Whom I love dearly
And who claims to love me--
The woman who refers to me as
"More of a movie buddy,
Or at best a fuck buddy"--
And still claims to love me.
The same woman who,
After saying this,
And plunging a dagger into my heart,
Can offer no better comfort
Than "I'm sorry."
No reassurance, no love,
Just an apology--
An apology with no meaning--
Hollow words from a frozen heart.
This woman (who claims to love me)--
Taunts me and berates me and stabs me
With lances of guile that
Pierce my heart
And ravish my soul.
I had always said they were wrong--
She IS the one for me!
The only one that was wrong...was me--
Blinded by love,
Driven by the desire to BE loved.
I was wrong.
I have kept this bottled up
For far too long,
And I fear it is too late
To save me from myself.
I blame no one--
Not my parents,
Who love me for me
Nor she--
Who claims to love me
Only myself.
For not loving her enough.
Death, indeed, seems more desirable
Than living in this hollow shell.
Gender:
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