Literature
The Piteous Lament
Is it ever love
if feelings can die so easily?
Is it ever love
when traces wash away?
Or,
Is this just me,
drowning in pathetic obsession?
Life carries on.
I know his did.
I'll never forget that strange, hurtful phone call.
I tried so hard to be open,
to be cool,
but I dug myself into another prison,
just to hurt for him.
I punish my vulnerable self.
I scream at her.
I hate that she loves any part,
any essence,
anything that came from him.
Conflicts amplify everything.
Happiness is an illusion
reserved for a sober mind.