of a life lived considered so dark and treacherous even in hell.
Of tears and of sacrifices; of so many that fell,
and the devil looking for one with a soul to sell.
I gave you what I thought to be my entire world,
but it wasn't enough; you desired and wanted even more.
You felt hurt and unloved when I would write a poem of loving words,
because it wasn't valued by you compared to the life you sought.
I didn't know what I could possibly do just to find your smile,
what you wanted was something that I had not had.
Thinking you loved me for who I was and not with the thoughts in your mind,
am I slowing being pushed away with the others and back into your past?
This wasn't love if I was the only one who was in love,
but even now I don't know who I was in love with.
Some say it was just a fantasy; simply an overwhelming lust,
that is often mistaken for love and also considered a gift.
I guess what we had in the end was nothing to be honest,
yet I still pass a thought of you every moment and now.
You were so beautiful; but you knew that and weren't modest,
and today I question those very feelings I had; how?