Why do I still hurt at this stage,
when I should be used to your ways?
Why does my heart still pound with rage
at all those things you say?
But then after all of this,
I always forgive and never forget,
and you, I always miss,
and for you I always fret.
I wonder to myself,
as the water burns my skin:
Since you only care for yourself,
why do I still let the feelings in?
What if I let it all go?
What if I never cared again?
I could just go with the flow,
when down your verbal knives rain.
I could refuse to let you bother me,
I could pretend that I'm okay.
And maybe then I'll be free
and friends we could stay.
But I don't want to not feel,
I don't want to be cold.
Yet these wounds will never heal,
if I continue to fold.
So I'll let it go
when you begin that onslaught,
and with you I won't row,
since that would be for nought.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry of Death
Poetry"You kept saying that you would never die, that you would live forever. But here you are, and here I am. Isn't it funny? I'm here to take your soul. Did I mention, I love my job? Oh right! I never told you. I'm the reaper who will reap your life." B...
