You make me want to run
Until you are out of sight;
You make me want to search
Until I have found
The thing farthest away from you.
Despite my desire to breach every distance,
I need a barrier, some isolation
From you, only you.
I wish that you were already dead
By the time that I was born,
So that you would be beyond my reach.
I wish that I could see you
As just another gravestone
Boldly flashing its epitaph,
But your heart still beats - and not for me.
You make me want to wash
Everything you touch,
To cleanse it of your disease,
Of the memory of your fingertips.
You make me want to kill
Anyone who has been close to you,
Known your filth.
(You make me want to kill myself;
You make it seem justified.)
I wish that I could lay my head
On your cold chest
And hear no heart beat.
I wish that someone
Would rip you open
And prove that you are empty.
You make me want to write
The saddest ending
To your glorified horror story.
You make me want to burn
Every page tainted by your name.
You make me want…
I wish only because
You shattered my previous desires
So effectively.

----

There was a time
When I had been.
“But what does being mean
Without the suffering?” you asked.
A moment existed
When I reached a wall
And named it “you”
Without hesitation.
A day occurred
When I clung to the gates
And shrieked your name
In furious hatred.
Once upon an age,
I, so tired of never
Touching anything real,
Thrust my fist into the stone.
That time returns now,
And I’ll break every bone
In my vengeful body
Just to hurt you with the knowledge
Of what you make me want,
Of what I wish
When all the sands of time
Can’t heal truths like this.