You don’t want to call it hate.

Although you despise words that were spoken.

Words of thoughts,
Words of passion,
Even words of love.

The little ticks and twitches got to you

Resembling little bugs in the summer that would not disappear.

Voices being raised

And things being thrown.

Your broken heart breaking others.

But your mind shut off, didn’t it?

And when your mind cleared from the blackness and you looked at the rubble in your path to see the purple and blue marks on little skin.

Red swollen cuts, dripping of black and pain.

Tear stained cheeks that refused to look at you, no matter how many 'sorry' you spoke.

Words cannot undo what has been done.

Do you feel the guilt?

The sunken in stomach and the shaky hands that remember every mistake you made.

But your pride swallows it.

Not wanting to feel so sick in the way of guilt.

Now having no remembrance of the tornado like damages you've caused.

Invisible in your own eyes.

Like a blood sucking vampire looking into a mirror but seeing nothing.

You are nothing.

Left to live a cold blacked out life with no remorse.

Yea, I’d say nothing would cover your summary.


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