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Not the Dream.
lately,
i've walked around, wounded by the thoughts in my head
consisting of you,
lost,
confused,
because i can't understand how good intentions of truth
can just be set, free
left alone,
better that,
than where these steps lead, but i too can turn myself
inward and selfishly avoid feeling
the emptiness,
that loving you,
has left me with, in such a void of contempt for myself
and what our time spent
added up to,
what it all meant,
and how you've discarded me, coupled with how things feel
as if they've changed
indifferently,
consumed by,
the fear that you'll look back and see what this has turned into,
not the dream
but the regret,
the tragedy.
