Vent poem

It always starts with “I’m Busy”

You never meant to intrude

You never meant to be too much.

You never meant to take too much time out of their day

But you did anyways

You felt it deep down, but your selfish nature told you everything was fine

You were given a warning, but continued on anyway

It’s been hours since they’ve texted you

And every conversation turns into a fight.

They tell you that you’re not the problem

But we all know that’s a lie.

Part of you wants to reach out, to feel the warmth of their words once again

But we all know where that gets you.

Don’t bother them, don’t be that girlfriend.

Just lay down, and sleep it all away.

Hours go by, each second tick-tick-ticking away agonizingly.

You feel your stomach start to churn, you feel as though it will tear

You pray for something, anything to happen, but nothing does.

Your phone screen is still as empty as it was five minutes ago.

You decide not to text. Don’t be that person. Let them come to you.

But it hurts, doesn’t it?

You hate waiting, waiting is the worst. Waiting hurts more than the event.

But you don’t want to make them feel like you’re desperate.

More time passes, you feel as though they’ll never respond. 

The room is dead quiet, you feel sick to your stomach.

You feel a single tear roll down your cheek, perhaps they’ve finally left, just like everyone does.

You roll over, and begin to cry yourself to sleep.

…

…

…

Ding.