Like everybody else I have ever loved, you've vacated.
Yet I must thank you for being my latest muse.
My art would suffer if you didn't exist to inflict chronic, acute, unintentional pain upon me.
I love you enough to fully immerse myself in your disregard.
I love this pain enough to want to keep you around.
Treat me how I deserve to be treated. Like the nothing that I am.
YOU ARE READING
Desolate Moon (SS 2)
Poetrymore exhibitionism, more emotional outbursts, more uncomfortably uncut honesty. TRIGGER WARNING.
