Adi, fellow canines, my mother, this is an old poem. Having a hard time at my first novel, currently. This is how I got over people back then. Now I just use angry music and poetry.
You make me want to turn the veins on my arms into zippers. When I see your eyes I want to stick red hot pokers into my own. I cannot be around you.
Thoughts of you beg for the accompaniment of lead. Don’t think this makes you special. You are a pariah. A virus wrapped in a blanket that some poor person mistook for warmth. Everyone else runs at 98.6 but you only emit a cruel and cold sadness. Love has only one condition that you must be there as long as you are able. You left like a bird that found its wings, while I remained flightless on the ground.
You are a sandpaper staircase on bare feet. You are a boxer’s endless round. You’re the reason my skull I must pound.. You are annoying. With every scrap of my being, it is you I should be avoiding. You were… the only one that understood me. Only one that put up with my crying from a 3am dialing. I loved you.