Today
I read a poem
I’d written it
Months back
When I still thought about you everyday
When you were my everything
And I thought
I was yours
It talked about
How I knew you’d forget me
Even when you didn’t
I feel I am a prophet
Except for one minor detail
You would not forget me
You already were forgetting me
I’m tempted to blow with rage
To explode
Smash myself to dust
For not listening to instinct
I’ve already learned my lesson though
That the title of the poem was correct
I don’t even fucking know
At least not when it comes to sensing betrayal in others
So I’ll take this minor victory
Of prophetic dumbshitness
And hold it close to the bleeding hole
And anger management issues you magnified
Maybe it can staunch the flow
But since it’s from you
It’ll probably just sear me further
Who gives a fuck anyways
I’m too scarred to care now
