dark poems

The End Of Us Has Come

that tangy smell, what is it?

that crimson liquid, what is it?

what is it? why am I covered in it?

if I'm covered in it but am unable to be wounded then who's is it?

what? it's mine? but how?

oh you, that's how, but why?

the answer, it is blood, and I am covered in it because I am wounded.

my last question will go unanswered, just like the questions, why do we love, or why do we live, or even why do we hurt.

so this is goodbye old friends and new ones as well, nice to have known you all.

you were great, but my situation was apparently too much.

old friend if you ever read this, just know that I'm glad you are now happy.

I don't hate you, old friend I'm not even that deeply hurt, I promise you that.

it's a flesh wound at most, I just wish you would have shared this with me first.

To: someone who was dear to me and the happiness they desired that I could not give them in my current state of being...

until next time luv bugz,
byeeeeeeeee ♡