Because there's no point in saying that you're not okay. No one can help you anyway. Only you can help yourself darling. You've been crying about him for two years now. What for? He barely loved you for two years. He doesn't even care what happened to you even when you're fucked in the middle of the night alone. So what if you think you deserve all these because you think you played him. Darling you played shit though you did what you thought was best at the time. You never hurt him intentionally. He lied to you over and over just to get back at you for what you have done. What have you done? You just fell in love with him that's all. Courting someone who's taken, that wasn't your doing. Don't regret anything. For the last time, he doesn't love you. He doesn't even treat you well anymore. Not as a best friend, not as a person he once cared and loved so dearly.
So get the fuck up.
YOU ARE READING
Two Years Late
PoetryA collection of moments where rhyming was necessary. Short, simple poetry; yet, those who relate - too many. Weird titles for humor, but that doesn't make the poem experience less painful. Those titles are painful to me though. You'll see.
