Air Conditioning

hate

I still think about your face on that day.
The day you hit me,
And I broke out of your
Fucking
Game.

Was it a game to you?
Did you even love me at all?

That face you made burns in my memory,
Twisted with rage, pain, sadness, suffering, maybe even
Desperation.

Did you know?
Could you tell it was falling apart?
Did you feel any sympathy?
Did you feel any remorse for what you did to me?

It was so...
Ugly, terrible, painful, shocking, saddening, depressing,
Terrifying.

I hated looking at you like that.
So I looked away.

What made you lash out so terribly?
What could I have done to cause it?

One mistake, something so small...
There's no way it was to blame.
That face, that horrible face,
That rage, which I know well,
It comes from something deep within.
A pain that escapes those without trauma.

I hate that I relate to that expression,
I hate when I feel it on my own face,
Those ugly, hot tears,
That spill out amongst boiling blood,
They burn, with embarrassment.
Maybe that's why you...

You hit me.

Later, you told me it wasn't a big deal.
It was just something to make me look at you,
Because I wasn't,
Because your face hurt, and I was
Shutting down.

A couple of punches to the thigh,
Not that big of a deal...

He hit me,
He's hurt me,
He hit me,
He's hurt me,
He hit me,

Please

Don't

Hurt

Me...!

...

You left me broken, yet you still find ways to make my heart hurt,
My pride sting.

"I've got important things in my life, and unfortunately, you're not one of them"

You dare say that to me?

Am I being immature?
Is he more mature than me?
Am I childish for being upset?
... Did he change?
... Should I reach out...?

...

I gave myself one conversation,
Let my words fill with poison,
Let myself be a bad person,
Let the toxic pain rip through my fingers into a couple of paragraphs,

Yet you see them,

And you blow me off so casually.

Still a fucking manipulator, I see. Very, very skilled as well.

You always had a knack for making me lose my fucking sanity. Making me question myself.

Making me question you.

Making me question

Everything.

I don't use the word hate lightly.
But...

I think I hate you.