To Hannah

I don’t want to hate you, but I think I might.

But what is hate, but love’s disguise.

With your apathy towards my demise,

And the thoughts you conquer day and night.

I dream of you so often dear,

With each one, the farther away you appear,

And now I know what I mostly feared,

Was the incapability for it to be sincere.

The withdrawals insurmountable, for you were a fierce high,

An illusion of safety, a piercing cry,

Into the depths of my depravity, my isolation, my loss,

Of the peace I once found at the foot of that cross.

A futile replacement, a foolish parade,

Of talk of forever,

Infatuation’s masquerade.

But that talk that you carelessly spouted about,

I took to heart without a shadow of a doubt,

Just like all the talk of an eternity of joy,

I once again fell,

For yet another vain ploy.