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All bad poetry stems from genuine feeling,
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but for now we are young

Posted May 7th, 2012 at 06:39 PM by love is louder


I pound the streets in the middle of the night. Every night. Iím not quite sure why I do it. Am I searching for something? Truth, understanding? Its the only place I can be alone. Out there and in the bathroom. But in the bathroom thereís too much temptation. Behind a locked door. In a room thatís seeping with opportunity.
So I run. I run into the night with my hud up and my head phones in. Trying to escape. To break away from my own mind, my thoughts. Into the dark streets I stare. Waiting for something, someone? I look for you. Round every corner in every alley but I never find you. I cant run back through time. And what would I do if I could? What will I do if I find you. I donít want to find you. I don't want to put myself through that. So why do I keep looking? I search for you at night and in my dreams. I think about you everyday and what you have done to me and the labyrinth of turmoil you have opened me up to. This is YOUR fault. I am the product of YOUR abuse. This is what youíve done, you should know that. But something tells me that you donít care. That I am just a face in a crowd to you. I donít thank you for what you did to me, you havenít bettered me, you havenít made me stronger. You have destroyed me. You have robbed me of my faith in decent humanity, in fate, in karma, in being a good person. So why is it that I am so hell bent on seeing you again? Why do I bound through the streets looking for you? Is it out of guilt? Is it because I need answers? Is it out of revenge, because Iím telling you now I haven't a master plan. I wouldn't even know what to do. I have fantasised about seeing you again over and over in my mind and in every scenario I have prevailed victoriously. I have inflicted on you the amount of pain you have caused me. And in every version I have taking from you your last breath. But thatís just a taster. Just a nanobyte of the misery you have caused. And in the end it would be pointless. You could never feel how you have made me feel. Not in a million years. So alas my searching is pointless and I return home. Not refreshed not stimulated or relaxed but with the feeling of disappointment, hopelessness and despair. Looking for the impossible. I have not contributed anything to society or even to my own recovery. I failed. I always fail.

This is what youve done to me and this is what I have to live with for the rest of my life.
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