Talking to Myself

Was I the one who fucked it up?
Or maybe I was wrong from all the start?
I let him pull me into that, for what?
I can't have him, I can't have it, whatever.

Being strong means breaking every weekend,
Holding hopeless whimper in you throat.
Is this what I am really here for?
How long ago I should've finally quit?
.......
If not escaping emotions,
They're like a swarm of rats.
Laughing gleefully, they follow
And catch you to devour.

Bitter taste of blood
And a bunch of painful poems
Is all that's up here left
In this burned out
                              black rose
                                              garden.

Feb. 27, 2025