PoetrySad Poems

The Irony

What do I do, when my worst insecurities are caused by my closest friends?
What do I say when my greatest anxieties are birthed and fed by the ones I love?
What would you say, when the deepest wounds and the biggest cuts are through the hands of those I would die for?
Tell me why the loudest voices, the voices of my demons are those of them I have sacrificed for?

Why am I tortured in my dreams by “family”?
Hot spears breaking my skin;
Loud cackles and wide smiles,
Soulless eyes and claws reaching out to grab my heart.

Pulse racing and feet running;
Tell me, is this what you call love?
Putting me on the spot and tearing me down?
Crushing me with your words and ripping me apart?

Putting me together with the fake smiles and false assurances?
Like sheep lead to the slaughter;
You hide your knife and when I’m not looking,
You slit my throat, then stab me over and over again till life left my eyes.

Is this what your friendship means?
Heaping curses at my face with words of comfort and pats on the back?
Stomping on my soul and spilling my secrets even when you know the hell I go through?
If this is love then why do I still come back?

So, I ask again.
Why are my angst and sorrows because of you?
Why are my apprehensions your greatest achievements?
Why are there gashes and sores on my chest?
Claw marks from my own nails over my own heart?

Maybe.
Maybe it’s because I deserve this.

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