A short piece...

Haunted

You loved the thought of loving me, but not the act

That is how you slept at night...you played the victim both in and out of your slumber

My nights were decrepit and empty

I slept only wanting to continue doing so…ceaselessly.

I wish I could say that was an embellishment

I hated your manipulative ways; they stay with me to this day

My memory of you is a bleak one; perched on your favorite stool in the kitchen -

ranting about how miserable you were -- while sipping your morning coffee

Haunted; not thinking, but knowing how unhappy you were.

I spent my weekdays dreading the sound of the final bell; when freedom was upon my peers

I walked off the bus to my dungeon; with my backpack in hand. Pathetically hoping for benevolence

I lingered outside, preparing myself for the tidal wave of emotions I was about to endure – Again.

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