Still

I'm still not over you, no.
No.

You're still in my thoughts every day, yes.
Yes.

I still don't know what I did wrong.
I still don't know how to cope.

I can understand, but also don't.
I could forget, but also won't.
I'm still suicidal, feel broken and used.
I still feel destroyed and duped and abused.
I still stay silent.
I'm still confused.

I know I'll never see you again
but in my head I still talk to you.
I meet you in dreams as a friend.
I'm still in love.
In love.

I still love you.

I still cling to hope,
but why?
And of what?
Of what, but a fantasy,
a belief that is lost.
I'm lost.

I'm lost.
I've no hope or self-worth at all.
At all.

I'm dead inside.
Black tears and nothing.
Nothing,
but carbon,
black blood,
a dead skeletal stare.

How long.
How long?

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.