Grrrrr...


You make me sick,
liar, cheater, deceiver.
You played your trick,
left me waiting, pacing,
aching with longing,
nauseous with regret,
and the thought
that I'm not good enough for you--
that I'm broken and flawed,
glaring imperfections,
only good for touching
and fucking,
not loving, never loving, no, not that.
Are you capable of telling the truth,
even to yourself?
I've been here waiting, forever,
for you to wake up,
realize how perfect we could be...
and now,
I just feel ill,
bitter and jaded,
at the thought of your lips
and the current your voice sends
racing through my veins.
How could something so real
be so wrong?
How could those hideous scars hide,
so well disguised,
razorblade intent
behind angel's eyes?
Well, rest easy, darling,
never again will you hear my sobbing,
my insistent knocking--
the only thing I feel now when I think of you
is disgust.