What is the meaning of my life if I'm only an extension of her? My taste is not my taste, my life stopped being my life when I met her.

I don't know how I feel towards you anymore. I almost feel like I can hate you like you hate me, but something scratches at me, a million people tearing at my insides.
The naive highschooler, the little "man", the lustful *******, the vengeful ******* in me now, and the one that wishes you could just be okay.

I can't ******* figure out which one is me, was me. What I want for you, from you, or why it even matters..

I want to be sorry, I am sorry, but the vengeful ******* still screams ****** ****** in my head.
"It was all *******, she wants to believe she's any better when she used you. She wants to judge and not be judged. Blame you for everything she hates in herself."

I try to drown him out with noise, music, love.
But I can't stop the nagging that you were selfish, and even more so, you were entitled.
You've always been everything you hate in me, and now more.
A victim that always denies herself love.

I laid in bed, the blanket caressing my skin. I could hear you breathing

in,
out,
in,
out.

I lost count of your heartbeats in the verses of a song ever so quietly upon my ears.
I lost myself in it all, my senses overflowed, and time was nothing but a thought for a moment.

Then I awoke,
the moment
lost in a dream.

Pain is simply a process of learning, still, I don't want you to hurt.

We wish to have loved and lived, and we wish to have died then to not have tried at all.

I wouldn't call death a real comedian, more of a two bit clown. He rehearses the same punchline at your doorstep each day.
"life is a joke, so I'll take it away fellas."