I always had this warped idea A sick fantasy That someday He'd read these poems. He would understand How he had made me feel somedays He'd tell me words of comfort So I wouldn't feel like this.
I had this sick little fantasy That he meant what he said to me. When he said Love or Always and Forever. When he would tell me things that let me See a future with him. Instead of the nightmare that I can only see now. When he held me And reassured me, and let me see How beautiful he was and could be.
I have this messed up hope That even after this Things could go back to normal. It would be like this never happened. If he read these poems. If he knew. If he knew, then he would care. Then this could be fixed.
Sick Sick Sick Sick Sick. Fantasy
Of
Words that will go eternally unread.
kazuka78 · Thu Sep 29, 2011 @ 01:34am · 0 Comments |