It's not love that torments me,
It is you.
You,
and your friends who were always closer than me
Because you allowed them
to do so.
But I don't think it hurts me anymore.
(REJECTION)
Now you want me badly.
You have nostalgia,
but I am the one,
the one
who wrote this poem.
It's not love that torments me,
it is you, you, you.
You get eyes on the phone,
even when I am close to you.
I tolerate it, but finally
you never see my name on it again.
Now you can call your past,
and ask whose fault it was.
(PAIN)
It is time to fall apart.
You feel despire
but I am the one,
the one,
collecting my own tears,
during this time.
What do you expect from me now?
It's over.
Over, over,
not over yet.
YOU ARE READING
Section of Dead Times and Poets
PoetryThis small volume contains a collection of my life's wisdom, dilemmas, downfalls. All of this is related to the burden of youth, complicated human relationships, both friendship and love. In all this chaos there is some hope and solace. For more ope...
