No One Will Ever Love Me Like You Did, But They Will Love Me Better

I wept for you. 

I gave you more than I would normally give anyone. 

I gave you immediate trust. I let you see the darkest part of my soul.

I worried for you. I hurt for you. I stayed up for hours waiting for you.

I doted on your well-being. I defied everything I believed in for you.

You were someone I was never to have, yet for a minute, I had you.

We were alone and I thought the time had passed for us. But you, 

You reached out and tore the wound that was barely healed wide open.

Hot blood, burn for me. Rip your wounds open to be closer to you.

As if the blood you could shed for me could replace the pain you placed in my heart. 

As if you could really reach into your open wounds and give me back my pain.

What, did you think we were soul mates?

I sure did. I was prepared to lose everything if it meant I could have you.

Fuck your effort. 

I’d love to think that nothing can parallel everything I gave you. You had my soul, you had the key to my heart.

So many would die to have what you had, be where you were, do what you could have done.

You had it all and you fucked it all up. 

In one moment, I threw my soul out the window at the drop of a dime because of your FUCKING SMILE.

Burn my soul if you will. What’s a soul when you’ve destroyed it so easily yourself?

I’ve done enough damage to myself to have waved goodbye to my soul long ago. 

And yourself, not a poet, you tried to explain your feelings. 

I’m not impressed. And I couldn’t wait for you. 

You want to hold my hand while I’m in the hospital? Aw, how cute. 

GET OUT. I didn’t ask for you. I don’t want you to be here. 

When I really wanted you to be somewhere, you weren’t. All I asked for was you and your devotion to me. I never asked for anything more. 

All the closure in the world couldn’t close the book on your world of pain and hurt. 

Stop trying to be the one who hurts more than anyone else, who wrote the book of extreme life. 

I wrote the book of extreme life. I am cold and I am hot in one person.

I have burned and I have crashed in my day. I am older than everyone in the world. 

I hurt harder than anyone else. My rage is cold and hot at the same time. 

I smolder, and I freeze. 

You can love to hate me all you wish, but in the end…

I still bleed. 

Bleed, bleed down into your core, an icy fire that rips you in two down to the very depths of everything you believed couldn’t be penetrated.

Just like I believed I couldn’t be penetrated. Not just physically but mentally, emotionally. 

You tell me no one will ever love me like you did. Well, I have someone, and you’re right. 

No one will ever love me like you did. 

I have been loved BETTER. 

You never lacked for love. But neither did I.

You lacked for respect. All those nights when you brought me over to get me in bed. 

If you wanted me, then you should have said so, but then again you never were the man for kind, sweet words. 

So run, run and hate me if it feels good.

I can’t hear your screams anymore.

You lied to me, but I’m older now, and I’m not buying, baby.

Demanding my response, don’t bother breaking the door down, I’ve found my way out.

And you’ll never hurt me again.

But then you’re back to catch me as I fall.

You say you’re here and that it’s all over now. 

Speaking to my utmost fear, no one’s here and I fall into myself.

So drink up, sweet indulgence, for I will never say no to you.

In one moment, I was under your spell again. Your eyes, your smile, your voice, your touch… Why must I torture myself so and love you so? More so than anything else in the entire world! 

Fuck, I’d give up my films if it meant you would be happy. 

Okay, I wouldn’t go that far, but still. You get the damned point. 

Mostly, I wish I could hate you. I wish hatred was something I was capable of. 

I wish I could hate every best friend who’s stabbed me in the back, and believe me, there’s plenty. 

I wish I could hate my best friends now for using me for what I’m good for.

I wish I could hate my Phantom for all of his self-loathing and everlasting love to me. 

I wish I could hate everyone for their never-ending self-sustainment.

I wish I could hate my parents for their actions.

I wish I could hate this school and its professors for their injustice.

I wish I could hate the pothead for his assault. 

I wish I could hate all of you who judge me without ever really sitting down to know me. 

I wish I could hate all those who curse me out for no reason. 

I wish I could hate all those who don’t know me and yet hate me as well.

I wish all these things. 

But I don’t. And I can’t. I’m shut off. Every single one of these things assisted in the systematic shut down of this miss. Laugh all you want, but I know what I am.

Will you ever know just what you are to me and what you have done to me?