I know I hardly ever talk about you, so this is a first, no? Hope you're feeling better by the time you get back. In the meanwhiles, and while I still remember, this entry is for you.
*Ahem* About the below words, I wrote that way back last year. In fact it's dated 14th of December, and has no title. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) it's not about you, although, the reason why I'm dedicating this to you is because I know what you mean and how you feel about certain-certain things. Somewhat. Perhaps in a more childish, less rational sense. It's not a sudden midnight thing because I have thought of this before, just that it slipped my mind. I beg artistic license because as you very well know I'm not an accomplished or frequent poet, if at all. For that matter, the following isn't really poetry. More like prose. Well, this is for you, nonetheless. Please make your criticisms private... thanks.
Hurt me, and no one will know, rend my heart, scar my soul. Hidden away, these wounds will never see the light of day.
You don't know, you never did. All these petty angers keep burning uncontrolled. Jealousy, a warm, searing grip, clutches my breast, inflames my mind. Hatred, rises like smoke, blinding me, but oh, so intoxicating. In a brief blinding flash, I renounce you, I cast you aside in my mind, hands curl into fists, ready to harm, hurt, tear you like you did to me, unknowingly.
Like a child, breaking the wings of a bird.
You didn't know, you never will. But then the tide washes over, and I am drained. Not even embers remain, just the dregs of my pain. Pale, watery, sallow - the sorrow left after the fuel is spent. Ashes even. Could never hurt you now, could never show my anger. I am broken, but return, only to be broken again.
