I am too much
in every possible way.
I am anger and hatred,
trapped in black-&-white, not grey.

I am sadness and hurt,
exhaustion and fear;
first pushing you away,
then needing you near.

Feel like a time bomb
each day and night.
There is no hope left,
and certainly no light.

This year is the last one,
no need to cry.
Once I’m gone, it’s done;
just don’t ask why.

About thetasteofwrittenwords

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