Hate 

Hate 

I hate you, and I hate being alive. I hate that you make me hate being alive. I hate everything about you. I hate how you make me feel. I hate that you are gone. I hate your smile. I hate your friends. I hate that I can not make you happy anymore. I hate your front of disinterest. I hate your reserved demeanor. I hate that I am not over you. I hate your happiness. I hate that I doubt that you are really happy but will never ask. I hate that it has been a month without speaking. I hate being weak. I hate you for making me feel weak. FUCK YOU. 

Nightmare

Nightmare

You were in my dream last night.

I vaguely remember where we were.

You sat on a lime green salon chair.

I have never been here before.

You look handsome per usual.

I do not know remember why we were together.

You were evil.

I sit in your lap.

We kiss.

You push me off into the next chair.

I cry.

“You are too much for me,” you say.

I sit in your lap.

We kiss.

You push me off into the next chair.

I cry.

“You are too much for me,” you say.

I sit in your lap.

We repeated over and over until I woke up.

I am subconsciously plaguing myself with a symbol of our relationship.

You were in my nightmare last night.