every poem I wrote is about you, even those who aren't about you because if they are not about you they are about me and you left a stain on me. it's like my soul has a black spot spreading on it and killing me from the inside.
I will never forgive you.
butterflies were flying in my stomach and then you hit me so hard I threw them up, one by one, painfully, bruising my throat as I choked with the words I will never tell you or anyone. they think I am better. I wish I was. I just got better at hiding my feelings and distracting people from the fact that I still don't eat or sleep.
getting too close to the sun when you are just an insignificant star will cause you to burn, not a quick vivid pain no but a never ending discomfort in this body that you loved to insult, a burning feeling in my throat that will never leave. you took away my breath and I am condemned to suffocate until I die, never able to exist properly without thinking about those awful things you said. did you mean any of the kind words you ever said to me? did I really deserve that pain? so many questions that will never have answers. as a poet, I will never know, I can write about every possibility but I can't know the truth.
