man i fucking hate the thought of you
you don't deserve to exist
the fact you still sit in the aftermath
and i must have these thoughts of you
where i remember small details
and the photos of such
it's a stupid thing
your memories are mine and it's invalid
you should be put down, relabeled
and put into a box
because your memories are with you
and despite the fact
memories are different from the people in them
the people in them were rotten to the core,
even at the time
it's sad i know that now
otherwise id be here and cherish them and reminisce
but i know you never really loved me,
or you lost interest
id love to know which
but i don't have the time to ask such a nasty mind
some simple question
you never would answer
truthfully.
YOU ARE READING
I'll Be Fine (pt. 2 of 2)
Poetrypoetry showing my stress. relieving, coping, really. continuing to add poems, sometimes daily. use this as place to talk about your own frustrations and dances with pain and strife
