I said some words I didn’t regret. I said some words I did. The words they came. The words then went. I found myself angry saying the words again in agony. Realizing the stupidity. The stupidity of my sanity. I destroy myself. I destroy my life. All because I want what was lost. I want it back at all cost. I’d gladly trade my life for her love. I gladly trade my soul. If it meant she could be with me again, I’d sell it as cheap as coal. My life means nothing without her. My life is nothing without her. My life is worth less than coal. What good is living when the one you love is lost. What good living when she’s there showing you the cost. The cost of failure. The cost of trust. The cost of words never spoken. The cost of a love, lost. I’m lost in my thoughts. I’m lost in my mind. If I could drown in thoughts, I’d have died a thousand times. My words go to no one. My words only meant for the one. The one who my heart yearns for. My heart that dies in kind. I’m sure someone on the outside looking in will find it silly. Loving someone who seems cold but they know nothing. It is I who was cold and not bold. It is I, aging timely with nothing to hold. I cling to my thoughts full of pain. I cling to my mind, so full of shame. The pain reminding me of life. My pain, it waxes and and wanes. I cry out to the sky, “Why?” It has no reply. As if to remind me that I’m all of the reasons. The answer to all of my why’s. The questions bring up the treason. The treason telling a tale of hardship and pain. Self inflicted but all still the same. I could end it. I could make it go away but then I’d do it again, and I don’t want her to cry. They will say I did it for attention. They’ll say I did it to make her cry. They won’t know the truth. I did it so that I won’t cry. Problem is, I’d end up dead and alone. No different from the problems in my head  I’d sit there in purgatory, forever alone. I’d find no penance. I’d dwell on my crimes. For what other punishment do I deserve but to live in my crimes. The crimes to myself. The crimes of my time. I am a crime. Just a friend who has no will to live. A friend who’s full of love that’s unrequited. A funny word that. It contains quit. To requit and a past tense, quited. I’m all of these things, all of which deserving of no love in return. What did I do that would be good for that? Nothing apparently. Just hell to earn. Place me in the ground already. Scatter me in dust. I don’t deserve to take up this space. The case closed and done. I can’t, she’d cry and I’d be missed. In memories and in thoughts, I’d be forgotten. I’d be gone.