It's quite clear now that you don't love me. While I was unsure at first, your lack of a response is a dead giveaway that you don't even care, especially to the caliber that I do. Of course, I shouldn't have blindly walked into this trap, but once again, I did, and I hate myself for doing so. And yet, I force myself into this endless, this treacherous, this ridiculous cycle, with the hope that the definition of insanity won't be synonymous with my actions. And all because you left me on delivered.
Part of me wishes that you would have just glanced at me, but one can only dream, right? This was once a dream, but a pathetic one at best. But now? This delusion has turned nightmarish, and it's so hurtful that it's beginning to tear me apart in the same way that dogs tear apart their chew toys. But maybe it's because you care. That's what I want to think, but do you? From the looks of it, you don't even care enough to open a message, let alone respond.
YOU ARE READING
poetry journal
Poetrythis will be a little dump area for all of my poetry. occasionally, there might be a few pieces from other artists i like/monologues from movies.
