Another morning,
Another short text,
I pour out my heart,
Yet I am perplexed.
The reply I get,
Is just what a sent,
A few words differ
to discredit my lament.
As midday comes
you start to come around.
But still in your words,
no passion can be found.
I yearn for the days,
that have recently passed.
My mind, like your passion,
has slipped through my grasp.
As night falls,
You become more familiar.
Yet still I can't trust you.
You're only her mirror.
Your goodnight seems almost perfect,
Like the ones from nights before.
But in the morning you'll be someone else.
Then we'll see what's in store.
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 2:13 PM UTC
I truly am pathetic.
But not for the ways you say.
For the way that I let you tear me down.
For the way I said it was my fault.
That everything was my fault.
In truth it was yours darling.
But I thought if I blamed myself,
then you wouldn’t be hurt.
That you would feel better about yourself.
And you did,
But I didn’t.
Now this is what it’s come to?
You, writing these spiteful lies you call poetry?
Now you’ve become pathe-
No…
I can’t speak of you this way.
I never could.
I always let you hurt me
with a smile on my face.
I always blamed myself,
though that was not the case.
I should have said something.
Stood up for myself.
But I didn’t want to hurt you,
Make you sad,
Make you feel the way I do…
I just wish
That these people,
The ones who read your poems
Knew the whole story,
My side of it.
The side that makes the ****** the villain
That makes the abuser,
the awful, disgusting, worm of a man,
just a sad, lonely and broken boy,
willing to destroy himself to see his true love happy.
But words are powerful
And hers may be better than mine.
If so then my story may go untold,
Unbelieved.
But, believed or not,
The truth must be told
I will no longer be that pathetic, submissive soul,
but instead an instrument to show the truth
A lens of truth…
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 3:08 AM UTC