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I always had this warped idea
A sick fantasy
That someday
He'd read these poems.
He would understand
How he had made me feel somedays
He'd tell me words of comfort
So I wouldn't feel like this.

I had this sick little fantasy
That he meant what he said to me.
When he said Love or Always and Forever.
When he would tell me things that let me
See a future with him.
Instead of the nightmare that I can only see now.
When he held me
And reassured me, and let me see
How beautiful he was and could be.

I have this messed up hope
That even after this
Things could go back to normal.
It would be like this never happened.
If he read these poems.
If he knew. If he knew, then he would care.
Then this could be fixed.

Sick
Sick
Sick
Sick
Sick.
Fantasy

Of

Words that will go
eternally unread.