a pathetic rant with a creative title

I hate waiting.
I hate getting mad about waiting,
and damn you for putting that one me.
You broke everything I knew,
callus man. I knew
nothing, so you broke
innocence. I hope it was sharp enough
to cut you and leave a scar,
because I certainly can’t handle
uncertainty now.
You should at least have marks
the same as what
my words inflect on those
who leave me hanging.
Sick bastard,
you dare to call me friend.
I understand your rolls
of words and curls of glares,
smile without ends or souls.
You dared to call me yours,
and tried to teach me love
and faith, but only fooled yourself.
Yet still, you can make a two tear woman
cry a damn stream of tears.
I can move up (I have)
but never fully on, and there
will always be a flash of aversion
in my eyes reserved for you.

4/15 poem
If you think it’s about you, it’s probably not.
If you know it’s about you, hi. 5 years and you still haunt me.

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