The StormMature

In which I finish poetry month... a few poems short of 30...

The Storm

I got a call last night

an old friend of sorts

"Back to treat me poorly

make my life hell

aren't you...

go a few rounds

fists in the air...

And all this

beating at each other


always have to preach,

don't you?

Root of my suffering

just leave me alone...

I've run out of use

for your constant hate

go torment someone else

show them

your sorry pretense of love

I've heard you too much

in whispers and in screams

you've pounded at mt ears

Please let go

don't come back again

black cat

with your constant pain


always you rip...

your aim so steady

I've fallen


for the last time

next time you come

I'll shove

I promise...

Your plan...

that was what?

Keep pushing me below...

What I have you rob

always pushing farther

like some

parasite that couldn't

be satisfied with only some

I can't say I'm surprised...

we share a face and name

we leave me standing stark

broken and sicker

than any feeling that I've known

and yet your bliss

your victorious drink

is premature... I yet

feel something

that your feigned pity

can not chase away

nor silence with your din

Your anger can still simmer

your fist can still slam walls

but I won't feel at all

You know, it's like Jack said

"A real friend stabs you

in the front"...

You think I don't know this?

You think I like

treating myself like this?

You think

I don't wish

just once

it wasn't me

that abused

me so?"

The End

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