I don’t think I’m angry,
anymore.
I don’t know what this feeling is.
This gnawing knot,
somewhere deep within me,
that I can’t see,
so I won’t acknowledge.
A detached ache,
when my mind lights up,
blue,
your colour,
in so many ways,
ransacked from the rainbow.
I don’t think I’m angry anymore.
I don’t know if I should have been,
but you told me once,
that you thought I was the jealous type,
and I typed so many heartfelt, hurt goodbyes,
that I think you must be right.
Blinded by tears,
devotion,
and mint coloured madness,
I cursed a continued stream of avatars,
that didn’t belong to me,
because you belong to me,
perhaps,
they didn’t deserve damnation,
destruction,
and devastation,
but I can’t negotiate with my heart,
when she is stormy and stubborn.
As you remarked,
I am an envious empress,
but only because you asked me to be.
