poem for an old friend

The truth is, you have no idea of how much you hurt me. I can laugh and pretend I'm alright, but I'm breaking inside, I'm screaming for you to hear me, but you're too deaf to even comprehend that the thought that I could even say a word aloud. Critize me for being quiet, it's all your fault. I'm tired of playing games with you, I want the days we used to have back. I want for you to remember that I am here, that I need you. You're so blind, and I can't open your eyes. You make up your bloody excuses and expect me to swallow them with no objections, but, I choke them back up and begin to cry over your manipulations. The truth is, I'm so tired of being hurt. Of casually being forgotten as you run off and and then later expect me to welcome you with open arms. I don't want to hear your insults, they're no longer funny. You jokes make me want to rip your head off and beat it into the ground. Your insistance that I should talk more is only your ignorance speaking. I don't talk because I'll end up getting angry and be unable to say what I need to say. I grow angry over your blindness, of your inablitiy to see that your actions aren't as they should be. You've forgotten how to treat me. And, I've never forgotten anything that you've done. The truth is, I'm in worse shape than before. I've let prophecies become true, I'm emptier than ever. The truth is, this is worse than dragging knifes across my skin. These words are written in cold tears and warm crimson blood. Written by a heart that never wanted for you to take advantage...written by a soul that's become broken. What I know now is worse than death, but I'll continue to play the games. I'll continue to pretend I'm ok, and that I'm not hurt. I'll continue to be quiet, and act like these words were never written, I'll continue writing my hatred for you down, and expressing my utmost love in sarcastic words. Sarcasm that I hope tears you apart. Hatred that I hope causes your heart to break and your eyes to finally open. Keep one eye open love, maybe you'll begin to see in a few pale colors. Truth is, I don't want to hurt you with my words. Truth is, you pretend you want to hear them, you try to convince yourself that you do, but each time you grow quiet and become afraid of me. Truth is, I want to break you apart piece by small painful piece. Truth is, I'm alone, cold and afraid, begging for a warm touch but feeling the numbness of your hand. But, it doesn't matter and never will, you'll never read this, you'll never know, you'll never understand. You can dig as deep as possibly, but you'll never find what's buried inside, under the decaying flowers, a grave dug with my own hands, in my efforts to run from you. You can never stop these feelings inside of me. I'm prepared to let all of this go, but I can't release it just yet... So many things I've left unsaid, so many actions I wish I could have taken, so many memories I wish I could forget, so many times I wish I could make you act differently. There are so many times I wish I wasn't such a dreamer, thinking of fairy tales that will never occur, and finish in a tragic, bloody ending. I'm slipping away, falling farther, losing more ground. But bring on more pain, I swallow it down, and beg for more. Maybe it'll make me stronger, maybe it'll make me hate you more. So much for three blissful months, laced in pain. Maybe you'll remember when I'm gone that you might have found some sort of happiness. Maybe you'll realize before that happens what you've done. Maybe you'll see and maybe it'll plague you as it does to me. Truth is, I hate you. The truth is, I love you. Maybe I'll sleep tonight with no more crying. Maybe I'll stop lying to myself. ::ok so this was wriiten for my ez bestfriend, if he ever reads this, and understands this.... idunno, but i d ont wnat him to apologize anymore cause i know its fake...::