12How Dare You?
Good day to you
It's been a while, has it not
Since I wrote
Since I put any emotions down
On this blank sheet
But today I break my silence
Something has sliced my skin again
Something to break my cool
Something that will create a pool
To drown in
It has been a while
Since I met you, that is
I knew you before that, of course
But I didn't know you.
At first I liked you
I appreciated your mind
The scope of your imagination
And I fell in love with your soul
Your beautiful soul
It made me blind
Blind enough to follow you to hell
Oh yes, I followed you
Floundered with you
Tried to help you
But I can't do that anymore
No longer a ladder to step on
Nor a stone to hold away
You spurned my love
But I loved you anyway
So much
So long, unrequited
Do you know how much it hurt?
Beyond the pain of hell, it hurt
Cutting me as I cut myself
My tears bloodied with my pain
How dare you?
I remember
God, I remember
But I lifted out of it
Lifted up
Lifted away
But I left you behind
Down on the ground
To stay
Now you blame me
You point at me
When I try to help again
How dare you?
What did I do, but help?
Teach you to feel
Teach you how to smile?
And now that I've gone
Like you wanted me to
My love is gone
Like you wished it too
Now you say 'I love you'
Like that's going to help
My hurt was deep
But now is gone
There is no feeling now,
Only an itch to have you gone
Just like you wanted me
Once, and not again
But yet, I can sympathise
You are a pitiful creature,
Whether you want my pity or not
It is there for you
Like I once was
Not now, as you remind me
Do I hang on your every word
How could you expect that to last?
How dare you?
And yet you see this as a new wound
A new 'game' of mine to hurt you
Now I am confused
Who set out to hurt who?
When did I ever wish you harm?
Wish you to go away?
All I ever tried to do was teach you
You didn't listen
Now you accuse me
How dare you?
I sit back on my haunches
Weep for you
How dare you?
How dare you?
A/N: Sorry, this is a crappy poem. It's been a while since I wrote anything, huh? But now there's enough 'fizz' bubbled up inside that I need an outlet. Poetry (if that's what one can call it) is it.