When she asks about me and you find yourself remembering all of the good times, all of our shared mornings, petty arguments and lazy days; I hope you ache with regret, I hope you drown in my memory and when the realisation finally hits you, I hope you'll be brave enough to tell her the truth: "She loved me, and I fucking destroyed her."
***
How long should you wait before moving on? How long are you supposed to grieve over an 'almost', over a very near, 'happily ever after'?
***
I will never be the same again but maybe that's a good thing.
***
I said I'd always love you, even with your hands around my neck.
So you put it to the test.
***
I was always honest with you, I let you in. Even when you didn't deserve the truth, even when you hurt me, I never fucking lied to you. You destroyed me and I still told you I loved you. My mistake.
YOU ARE READING
Confessions of a shitty poet.
PoetrySome of my poems contain bad language/sensitive issues and therefore I have changed the setting to mature and issue a trigger warning. I am forever updating this book, it will probably never be finished.
