my rage
towards
you
is like
a storm.

o,
how i wish
you were in it.

how i wish
everything you ever loved
gets washed away
by the gust of madness.

how i wish
i get to destroy
the image of me
you called home:
spew in tornadoes
until nothing’s left.

how i wish
you get hit
by the thunder
and feel at least,
for a second,
feel the pain
i felt.

but darling,
the storm started
with you in the
middle.

the eye of the storm
spewed with you in the middle.

you feel the calmness now
but if you look around you,
you see that you have nowhere else to go
but deal with me.


so,
if you think
me being calm
in front of you,
is a sign of forgiveness,
think again, my dear
— for the storm is only starting.
wait till i finally move
and see that you’re not in the middle anymore.

i was so [angry, jealous, d e v a s t e d]
when you choose her over me.
i couldn't stand to see the pleasant calm that
settled over the two of you.
you were quiet with her, your eyes held
soft looks, shorts glances. disbelief in your face
like you couldn't believe the prize you'd won.

and i guess i'm wrong again because the word is broken,
i was so [broken]

you wouldn't even breathe
in my direction when she was around
and i was always around, a victim and witness to unrequited love.

i wonder if she hurt you more than you hurt me because
she always thinking of how she couldn't
stand to be with you,
even one more time.

i watched the way she'd brighten whenever he smirked
and she never smiled with you, only at.
maybe i feel a little better about this whole mess
because her heart was breaking in two,
too.

it doesn't really matter because she had him
and you and him and you
and sometimes I don't think
there was any distinction in time.
maybe it was all blended together
but I know she knew the difference because
she loved him.
and didn't love you.

and those words are vindication enough and I know our love wasn't real because it feels good, these words feel good, you hurt feels good.

her hurt feels good too [just not as much]
she loved him and loved him
and he didn't love her back,
not with the soft kisses and that sun-kissed hair.
not even with the way she said his name,
kind of like how i say yours.

but now he does and
i always thought i was the odd line segment in this love rectangle because she loved him
and i loved you
and you loved her and nobody loved me.

but I guess we're both losers in this stupid ante highschool ******* because you could **** her brains out
and she'd still whisper his name
and when he ***** her i don't doubt for a minute
you've never crossed her mind
and I know so many stiff socks
on your bedroom floor are sponsored by images of her.

so it feels good. being less x feels good.

i am envious
of what you have,
but not
of who you are

regardless,
it withers me

instead of watching
your garden grow, even if
i find it
utterly dull;

perhaps,
i should start digging up
the earth in my own,
neglected plot

and observe
what becomes

It has been said to me, "An act must thus ensue,
So that no one can ever see it's the world against you.
Yet that battle can only be fought behind the stage,
While everyone else sees you smile into your old age."

But they only love the mask, they only know the act,
They couldn't care any less for simple truth or facts.
By the end, perhaps, I'll finally believe,
And truly, completely, the world deceive.

I don't know where I'm going,
I scarce remember where I've been.
Still, blindly I am rowing until I reach that bitter end.

I'll be on that river by myself, all alone,
The truth is still unknown, the act all that remains,
For by now I am the mask of a man without a name.

1/1/15
(Revised 4/18/15)

for whatever i do,
with someone new,
there’s a small part of me thinking
it could have been with you.