Poems and excerpts from books I probably won't write.

#2

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I knew she didn't love me. Atleast, not in the way my heart so badly wished she did. Every bone in my body ached to be the one she loved but it turns out that I am always the one who fights. She is both the sun and the clouds to my day yet I am just another friend in hers. My soul aches from the pain of seeing her love anyone who isn't me and to all the people who say unrequited love is beautiful it isn't. It's crying so hard that you can't breathe and feeling like your lungs are trying to tear there way through your lips. It's under eye shadows and fake smiles. Its drinking so you will forget the way her eyes look when shes happy and after when your lying in the fucking bathtub and your head is spinning from all the bottke of fireball you gulped down, that you fucking cant forget. It's fucking tragic and there is nothing beautiful about that pain other than the one who causes it.