My jealousy feeds off hurt
fed by him.
It's a whole food chain of feelings.
Everything is strung together with veins.
It's finally explained
when I look back to him.
Though I should take blame,
my problems are all his fault.
The suffering we endure daily…
He was the creator of our deepest cut.
He was never there.
Always gone,
never ready for us.
Always, he was bereft of the support we needed from him.
If he decides to return after all his mistakes
we won't take him willingly.
Our arms will be closed, crossed
defending our scarred and broken hearts
patched up the wrong way
with old fabric scraps and duct tape.
It's too late…
He can't come back.
Returning will only make things hurt.
Our hearts will fade and tear more until we wither and die.
It was his mistake from the beginning,
handed off to us in a cold game of hot potato…
one of those mistakes you can't fix;
the kind alters your entire life so nothing is right
and everything is dark and cold and painful and awkward after.
It essentially ruins your life.
Like a poison from within,
you need it but it hurts you.
Love to hate, hate to love.
It's essentially ruined the "best" of our lives.