When will I stop writing about you?
I’ve been stuck in this drought,
this writer’s block you’ve put on me
but I still couldn’t stop writing about you.
As I take you for who you are,
you took me for everything I was,
and everything I might have been
I begged for your validation,
for compromise, for acknowledgement
you didn’t bat an eye, you didn’t give a fuck.
This negligence you’ve provided,
gave a sense of doubt in the back of my head
is it worth it? are you still worth pushing?
I asked myself these questions all over again.
Until I reached a conclusion,
A statement you keep saying time and time.
“I didn’t love you because I want to be loved back,
I loved you because I did.”
You were right, but wrong at the same time.
Yes, I loved you because I loved you
but to love and not expect anything in return,
that’s just another way to define Masochism.
No matter how many times you did me wrong,
I did you right and never left your side,
That’s just how it is, I love you
I loved you? No… I still do.
It’s been so long since I’ve written anything else
For the longest time you’ve been the only subject
the only subject of my existence
I’ve made you my sun, my moon, and my stars
Now my universe is just pitch black,
It’s been that way ever since you left.
not a ray of hope, nor a beam of light
It’s just darkness, it’s just despair.
Right now, I still write about you,
trying my best to not cry myself to sleep again
trying my best to write the night away,
hoping I’ll unknowingly pass out thinking of