I can’t even write anymore You are everywhere in it It pains me. I am sick to death of being haunted By a person who wanted nothing to do with me. Who fucked with my head And made me question my mind. But you are everywhere in me Like a sickness. And every time I wonder where you are And if you are safe And if you are happy I betray myself a little more. You moved my body It is rare that I should feel Such a visceral need. I wanted you as I wanted breath. And every time you turned your head Or closed your eyes Or freed a fleeting smile I lost that breath. I hate how I still shake when I think of you Still turn my head when someone with your posture walks by or when I pass by a place you once called home. I hate how even now Just the thought of seeing you Makes me want to pray Or cross my fingers in hope. I hate how I doubt myself Every time I think of you And wonder how it could be possible That I could have been too strange Too mad or too broken For someone so strange and so mad and so broken. I still want to curl up into a ball of hurt And ponder the ironic cruelty That even the mad don’t want the mad. Mostly I just hate how Every time I go to write you away Draw you out of my blood I just retrace the same silly grief And realize one more time That I still don’t know how to let go And there is no way to let this wound be. I hate that I feel like I’ve written this poem before And I know that I’ll write it again.