You said you did it for me.
You said you love me.
You said it's out of respect.
You said you aren't ready.
You said you can't commit.
You said we will be friends.
You said you did it for me.
Why is that the last thing I see?
Why are you the only thing that brings me glee?
Why do we speak of if we find another?
Why so eager to distance from each other?
Why are you the gleaming star upon the hill?
When deep down all you are is a pill.
You said you did it for me,
But all I can see is the way you hurt me.
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.
