Every time I close my eyes I see you. And that’s not a metaphor or just another way to turn you into poetry; it’s the cold blooded truth and I fucking hate it. I can’t write any more romanticized poetry about it so I’m just going to go straight to the point, just like you did when you told me you never loved me.

You had me in the most innocent way you could ever have anyone. You had me convinced that you cared so I gave you everything and you took it and ran.

I use to be able to find ways to deal with pain but writing mediocre poetry cannot get me my virginity back, it won’t stop the dreams and it certainly won’t stop the breakdowns when I wake up and remember that wasn’t a dream; it all still happened. You still did the things you did; said the things you said.

I’m still trying to find a way to live with the idea that you got to walk away absolutely fine whilst I was left choking on the words you left.

—poisoned-words

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