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Jul 2022 · 2.3k
Goodbyes
A Jul 2022
Waves of sadness as you wave in my direction. I see you go, I watch you leave. Just as the seasons appear and dispose of me. We take turns walking away, from people we never talked to. Wondering why it hurts the same. Hating that it hurts as all of these people go. Sudden realisation hit us one by one. As we wonder, and walk, and wonder around all the topics we may have avoided. The thoughts we’re apparently devoid of. Introspect, retrospect, dissect ourselves in this critical moment. Nostalgia knocking us over making us think and  making us feel, for once. A remarkable feat, it must be applauded. Ovation, overjoy, overwhelm. Over this. Over them. Over it. Time moving so agonisingly slowly, wishing away the years. Needing to escape, yet wanting to eternalise the way they make me feel. Nothing lasts forever. Maybe you should’ve, yet you didn’t. Now you’re all that’s left tell me how it feels. It doesn’t feel good, it doesn’t even seem right. Yet it’s a must and a miss you. The question has to be asked: why are you crying now? After all these months, why are you letting it hit now? Stay strong, be strong, be you. Be fearless and young. The golden years fade away into shades of blue and black skies. I wish you all well, and a happy birthday. Get well soon, get there soon. It’s all getting to me too soon. It’s too soon. How are we already here? We were all the way over there yesterday. Faces flash and second pass by with smiles. Frowning back, the question must be asked, why are you so sad?
Written on the final day of college.
Jun 2020 · 109
Hated.
A Jun 2020
I used to laugh with you,
I hated myself for that.

I used to smile at you,
I hated myself for that.

I used to find you funny,
I hated myself for that.

I used to call you 'my friend,'  
I hated myself for that.

I hated myself.
Yet, I loved you... for what?
Jan 2019 · 277
Nightmares.
A Jan 2019
The thing is,

my nightmares aren't about huge spiders,

or falling off the top of really tall buildings.

They aren't about the monsters in the closet,

or the monsters in my head.

They aren't about ghosts,

or creepy clowns.

My nightmares are about you.
The way you killed me with your eyes.
I've never been the same.

The way you stabbed me in the back when I wasn't looking.
Red eyes,
love made me blind.
The way your words trapped, strangled, and suffocated me.

Sweet dreams.
My first poem.

— The End —