Tuesday, October 2, 2012

My Dilemma


You spoke of love,
You never meant it, it seems.

You spoke of happiness,
Your own at my expense,

Of morals: virtues,
As long as they were mine.

Your own virtues, hidden, latent in some distant desert swirling land,
Forgotten, along with me, my ashes, but a song to thee.

And I sit here, broken in you,
Living my life, trying but to spite, upsetting you,
Showing what is mine, and is not yours,

And I cry, As I realise this,
I live to spite you,
Not to aid me.

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