Tags:
  • Pain
  • ,
  • Hate

    It.

    I see it.
    The torment.
    The hate screaming from your eyes.
    The disgust seeping through your smile.

    I feel it.
    The rejection.
    The tension when you touch me.
    The resentment when you see me.

    I know it.
    The pain.
    The unbearable, excruciating agony.
    All when I see your face.

    I hate it.
    The sadness.
    The tears that fill my eyes.
    The thoughts that overtake my mind.

    I can't do it.
    Feel this way.
    The anger racing through my pulse.
    Barging through my lips.

    I won't let it.
    Go any farther.
    The anxiety and depression must end.
    My heart is not a toy to explore, but to defend.

    Get away.
    I feel your stare.
    It seeps through my skin.
    Eating at my soul.

    Let me be.
    I need to breathe.
    Leave the pain behind.
    The taste if hate disintegrating from my tongue.

    I wake up.
    Aware.
    My life is different.
    I am different.

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    Poetry is finer and more philosophical than history; for poetry expresses the universal, and history only the particular.

    Aristotle (384 BC-322 BC) Greek philosopher.

    nfowble514’s Poems (8)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    Wreckage 1
    Hesitation 1
    Goodbye, My love. 1
    Untitled. 1
    Darkness. 0
    Untitled. 1
    My Heart. 0
    It. 0