You made me come to hate the something

I once loved

I am not myself just as much

As you are not what you appear to be.

 

And what does that mean?

 

Like wet paint

The smell lingers but please,

Do not touch the walls

As they are delicate with emotion

Much less with meaning-

A blank space where That used to

be.

 

A return to the activities we once

Enjoyed as children does not guarantee

The same kind of joy

I’d rather return, child

For this is as empty as two shoes bound together

And flung,

 

Across the wire

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