It hurts.
No, it's not pain.
More of a nausea.
Indeed, indeed.
I can feel it, it's that feeling of greed.
Yet not quite.
Guilt it may be.
Or sickness of the sea.
No matter how close it feels,
This sickness isn't quite real.
In my head, maybe.
Or in my bed, as it seems.
Yes, I get it.
The sickness is me,
Yet I am still the sea.
The criminal who causes pain,
Yet the victim who suffers in vain.
I am hurting,
Yet it is I who caused this.
I cannot be helped,
Because I'll cause the pain again.
Maybe I just need a friend?
No.
I've found a friend, yet it hasnt helped.
I fell in love and now the damage is dealt.
I cannot tell her.
She may hate me.
Even so, I still chase after her.
She has me running in circles.
In loops, and now I trip
On my own two feet,
And my shoes dont seem to fit.
I'm still nauseous.
I'm still in pain.
I saw the doctor,
He told me these pills will help.
Yet...
I feel I'm even less of myself.
Oh well.
It'll all end one day.
Sooner or later is the question.
It is one that I can change,
But others may be affected.
I'll leave it be.
For now.
©lex_writes
A