I write to express it,
to let it out, to cry it out,
it still hurts,
the depth of loss,
I am so tired of hurting, exhausted,
from missing you,
the pen, worn out,
hating you makes me feel better,
thinking of all the ways you are evil,
and such a pathetic person,
for not loving me in return,
and how i deserve so much better.
That anger exhausts me.
Until i fall back into love,
my heart, with a hole.
I will wait for eternity,
for you to return my love.
I will give you my broken heart
to show you, to prove my love,
I will wait, never love another,
and hold this pain, cradling it, gently.
A cherished wound, to show you,
and you will know that no one
will ever love you like that again.
thats funny, what a joke
she will only love me if i become stronger
more money, more respect, more power,
She isnt capable of love,
of seeing my true beauty,
All she cares for is money and power.
The artist has no value to her.
She lied to me, got what she wanted and left.
Wounded women love my broken heart.
It tastes delicious to them.
i bet i was only breakfast.
After 1000 pages of this,
I still do not feel any better.....