Valentine (a letter before my suicide)

It’s February 14th and I think I owe you a poem.

I think I owe you a poem about the way you make my heart beat erratic rhythms in my chest…

Ba-dum-dum

Ba-dum

Ba-dum-doom-doom-dum

I think I owe you a poem about how my face lights up when I see a text from you.

I think I owe you a poem about all the sappy things you make me feel…

But I also feel as though I owe you a poem about the bad things.

I feel as though I owe you a poem about the way you frustrate me with your inability to just talk to me and complete refusal to pay me the same attention you demand so readily from me.

And, oh my stars. Don’t get me started on that.

I feel as though I owe you a poem about the way you demand attention you don’t show me. Isn’t a ‘relationship’ supposed to be equal?

(Secret: I’m reciprocal. You get what you give. It’s just unconsciously how I am.)

I feel as though I owe you a poem about how I feel as though you’re still fucking talking to that fucking asshole while he’s in jail and I swear to fucking god I will destroy you.

I feel like I owe you a poem describing how much I hate how far I’ve convinced myself that I’ve fallen for you when I know I haven’t the slightest care about anything that has to do with you or anything you stand for.

I feel like I owe you a poem for how much I hate that my brain wants my heart to skip a beat when you text me even though my heart is absolutely disgusted by you.

Sigh.

I felt as if I should give you a poem that shows the vast difference in the feelings I have for you.

Goodbye.