Poetry: Delivery


"Its all fun and games until the wave breaks, and lives are at stake."
I wish I could say what needed to be said, to bring these memories I regret right back from the dead. The problem is they are dead for some, just not for me, it's like all the people I've let go are a metaphorical zombie. I play out scenarios and I think of ways it could have been better. Ways I could have saved arguments before they turned into a personal vendetta. It's sad to think, that it always goes away, when someone gets angry and says somethings they should never say. It's a seriously surreal, this feeling I feel when I can dream of times spent caressing. Then when I wake and I spend the rest of the day suppressing the depression. I make my face a mask, and put myself forth to the task. I make myself smile, and tell everyone its okay, while on the inside I rot and slowly waste away. I guess what I'm really trying to say, is I never wanted it to be this way. These are the feelings I must convey, these are the feelings that I never get to say. I don’t understand how I can be her everything, and then be a wisp, a ghost, an avoided annoyance. It doesn't make sense that how someone else feels for someone can immediately become past tense. I can turn in my sleep and smell her hair, even though she isn’t even there. It may seem as if I am obsessed, but it has taken me years to express, the feelings that oppress my mood, my choices, those constant mocking voices that don’t let me move forward, that don’t let me fly freely. The constant reminders that I was once happy, and now everything else is a copy, a counterfeit version, and all who come after are just a diversion. I make mistakes and I tried to move on, but every person I've loved has paid the price for my heart getting stomped on. It's not fair, because for them, why should I care? Why should I hope for something that probably isn't even there? Why should I whine and moan, about a feeling that was just on loan, not promised, just cherished now that its gone. I miss that feeling, that touch in the night, that caress on my back when she fights off my fears, guarding me until the light makes it all right. Between us I was the one who went through hell, and still I broke down the gates and let her in. She tore out my heart, and I must confess I don't even mind that fact that it was in her own defense. She tried to hurt me before I could hurt her worse, because damaged can only deal more damage, that is what makes sense. I'm not sorry for loving, I'm not sorry I gave in. I'm just sorry that damaged goods is what she got inside the delivery it all came in.

Thank you for reading, i really appreciate any time you spend on me and what i do.




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