A multitude of hopeless expectations
like an unfillable form.
An inexhaustible list of disappointments, self-pity,
bears the seal of contempt.
Every single day
a line of mistakes.
An immense swarm of half-attempted ideas
like a love letter in a paper shredder.
Your life’s work arranged in a storage room, on the lowest shelf,
unread, dusty tomes.
Every single day
a line of mistakes.
Forced to open your eyes,
you never knew that I love you— you were a hater.
Persistent yet so silent,
the crier in the desert— you hated.
— you hated.