April

this is a poem written in anger. it’s dedicated to all of you. beasts. fake people with fake intentions. you disgust me. it’s even more disgusting to think i might deserve to be among you all, it’s even worse to believe i chose to be like this. you, of all people,  should know that. sometimes i find myself wandering about all that we have lived together, all those tiny moments that seemed - at the time - to be like the last day of our lives. where did it all go? is there a way back? doesn’t matter now, anyway. you, of all people should know. and if you’re thinking it’s just another of my drama scenes, it’s not. it’s the truth. you made me sick and i’m dying and it’s all your fault. deal with it. and go fuck yourselves.