Razee (razee) wrote,

Stop Reminding Me That I Hate You

http://razeeink.wordpress.com/2009/09/17/stop-reminding-me-that-i-hate-you/ (via shareaholic)

 The day that my spirit animal left me

she disconnected

stopped saying anything

terror came home and made herself comfortable

The signs say go home and be miserable

and you are already home.

There are no more promises to keep

I think you told me about my serving

an ultimate and intimate resolution.

I never said that I couldn’t be there for you

I never said that I would be there for you.

All of these promises never kept

this year has been a lie and a worry

about pregnancy and hypocrisy.

Nightmares never leave, they just gain character.


I hate you for loving me this much

I wish you had let go

a long time ago.

Anyway, I thought that I would call

scream a few times out of the window.

I always remind me of everything that makes you.

Be well, all covered in skin and promises

I never lied because you are never old enough.


Tears drip sand promises never kept

if there is anything that I wish

I did not have to show you

I know that there is one thing-

another kiss could have been a promise.

Bubblegum promises fed on corn and a bigger city

calamity is not so difficult to speel 

if you are a bee or a cast

spell maker.

No absolutes that I could mean

get any better

you be you

and I love you more.


The mourning bells are singing worldwide

today, there is nothing better to do than die.

I will never do anything bad again.

Promises promises and all you keep are letters

left behind in the carry-on compartment

of your heart and other emotional baggage.

Spitwads are not free speech.

Say you love me like you mean it.

I hate you anyway.


The adventure has become bothersome,

with the cannibalization and pontification

of sorrow and the loss

that comes with destroying the love of your life.

She will participate in a couple Take Back the Night parades,

and he will write a few poems.

Everything will go back to where it was

before and after the events look like each other.

Passion stopped being worth the discourse

about 100 broken hearts ago.

Stop making excuses

you like it, you bastard

You thrive on it.

Stop reminding me that I hate you.


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