So this is a poem type piece that I wrote that kinda explains what was going on in the last piece. I am way over this but I really liked the piece when I was done so here it is.
This time I am not drunk, so worry not of the repercussions of my actions. I am sitting here in the dark typing this, and all the while she keeps text messaging me. She acts as if nothing has happened or that it is no big deal. I am here to say it is a big deal at least to myself. When a man confesses his love to a women the last words he wishes to receive is how she sees see him as a brother, but lets add onto this the fact that she has fallen for his best friend. That alone would drive any sane man to a fit of sadness, but then lets throw more fuel on the fire, for she is also one of his best friends who he spends nearly all his time with along side the other best friend she has a thing for. He of course likes her back and does not try to hide it. Grabbing and hugging her at nearly every opportunity. Which if I wear to do would be met with a harsh word or a simple but awkward silence. There they are, so cozy together, and here I am popping obscene amounts of Ritalin, and chugging it down with tall glasses of water. The more time I spend with them the more I search for some substance to alter this terrible reality where I constantly think of death and such morbid thoughts. Worry not though for nothing will come of those thoughts, for they are simply that; a though that stays locked in my head. Now it would not be so bad if she would just not text me, and expect me to be just fine. She tries to make feel better which I love her for, but the mere gesture makes me feel worse then before. She gives me these uplifting words that only drop me further. I understand it does not effect you, but please understand that this is like cutting me with a knife, then rubbing salt in the fresh and bloody wound, and then saying it will make you feel better. Love is a sadistic, malicious spirit who gets a sick and cruel laugh at the man lying in the street with dead flowers, and a tear stricken face which he claims is simply the rain, but there is no rain. Instead it is a sunny day out for the world wants to you too feel even worse. Love can make a sane man wish to put a bullet though his skull to simply end the pain, and move to the next stage of life where maybe one day the one he loves will love him back, a true paradise.