I don't love you–
I never did.
I pity you.
You wear this place like a weight,
I wear it like armor.
You're a poor soul,
With an unfortunate history
Of bad friends
And dark nights.
But back then,
Before the heaviness caught up to you,
You seemed tough
In your youth.
My eyes are open now–
We're both older.
You're still sick,
And maybe I am too.
But if I am,
It's a different disease.
I still feel sympathy for you,
Though I loathe the time when I "loved" you.
YOU ARE READING
VADE RETRO ME, SATANA.
PoesíaVADE RETRO ME, SATANA [Get off my back, Satan.] Disclaimer: This story becomes progressively lighter as I do.
