There's nothing that holds like envy.
It's a feeling, that holds by the throat.
Jealousy, love, hatred, are feelings
robbing the blameless and weary.
Love and envy will coincide.
We hate, we engage, and then we collide.
But love always comes to proceed the envy
For we love what we have—
Until we feel unworthy.
There's nothing that holds us like envy.
In the mirror, hangs there—the pulse.
I see envy, hate, the sensation of rage-
Reflection, unworthy. Disgusting. Repulsed.
After all, is said and done.
After that feeling that stated I'd won.
I see my reflection, I've seen what I've done-
My vengeance; finally come and gone.
My reflection; fractured still.
My envy, now, resides.
The remnant hate,
what is left of pain,
Now morph and change
and suffocate.
Envy, it holds us all by the throat.
Morph and change and suffocate.
YOU ARE READING
Birds in Glass Castles
PoetryMy collection of poems through the last few years in some of their rawest forms; more steppingstones of my journey as a writer.
