Saying you’ll be there till 3005,
Means nothing to me anymore.
Yet it’s still how I feel, alone, but surrounded.
Making me feel so cared for,
But not.
What you did,
Gifts from god,
Or curses sent from above to destroy me.
It’s the things we love most,
That destroy us.
Maybe that’s what you’re doing to me.
Destroying me from the inside, out.
Brainwashing me, corrupting me,
Into a less intelligent version of yourself.
Maybe I shouldn’t mind,
You’ve shaped me into who I am.
Helped me find the real me.
I've taken what you've done,
And turned it into something good.
Maybe I should thank you.
For finding me,
For helping me, do me,
Better than you do you.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
Poetry"Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary." - Khalil Gibran
