You say you will be there when I need you,
You were not there, so the knife was.
You say you have never wanted to leave my company,
You must enjoy the fight.
You say you never lie to me,
You never tell the truth.
You say you never want to make me cry,
You have seen the perpetual stains on my cheeks.
You say you love me,
You only love me after I say it first.
You say we will make it to the end together,
But your head seems to disagree.
YOU ARE READING
The Sickness
PoetryWe are full of rot. A slow rot that eats away at every single one of us like ants in soft, damp wood. Let the infestation thrive within. We are sick.
