I hate you.

Your narrative is not only delusional but complete shit, love. It only exists so that you can look in the mirror without wanting to kill yourself. In psychology, they’re called defenses. That’s how awful you are, your own psych has to convince itself that it isn’t disgusting just to survive.

What does your journey home cost you?

Think about it, we all say people are complicated but the heart needs something as simple as someone looking forward to your arrival. And isn’t home perpetually waiting for you to come back?

When I close my eyes

You haven’t changed a bit, I think to myself, you’re still the 20-year-old kid I fell in love with whereas I’m a 65-year-old grandmother full of wrinkles. You smile and ask me if I picked up food for you on the way home. I try to explain to you that I didn’t know I was coming to see you today, death doesn’t come with a phone call

Midnight Mania

I wake up sweating. That same dream again. Why does everything always lead me to that oncoming train? From past experiences I know going back to sleep wasn’t an option, so I force myself out of bed. This is part I hate the most, the one where I’m stuck between four walls with nothing but my thoughts. My greatest enemy.