I tell myself every night that I should really let you go,
But the rope is cutting at my palm,
And I am sitting watching myself bleed,
Because how can I let you go,
When you are someone I'm willing to bleed out for?
When I tell you I hate you,
I mean it.
But it also means I hate the way I still care.
The way I worry about you incessantly.
The way I keep the volume on my phone up at night,
A habit I've had ever since I started waiting for a call that you died,
That your brain could no longer be treated like a criminal ,
Stuck in the mistreatment that was the prison of flesh it lived in.
I still wonder if I'll ever love again.
If I'll ever stop sitting and wondering when the yelling will start,
When the bruises on my thigh will become a constant again.
I want to let you go,
But I suppose I'm known for letting my limbs fall off before I aid to their wounds.
Maxx
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Does the Rain Ever Stop?: Poems and Musings
PoetryHello Reader, This is my collection of poems and thoughts that I have compiled over the last few years. I have been writing for many years and my number one hope is that someone reads my poems and feels seen. Says "oh that's me". We all live in this...
