Key to Hell

What you considered two-fold
is less than a fragment of a mirror already broken;
and your perception of these situations
is a little more than clouded.

I sleep less than a minute living that past;
but sometimes there's a variable come up
that forces you to it's reality--
easy to forget once you've finished what you started.

It really takes little priority amidst
the sun's face cracking and spilling out
fire into my eyes and onto my skin;
but he's got the medicine
that cools and heals again.

So where am I, you ask?
In a little place between sleep and daydreams;
where those things I say mean nothing but whispers.
Cause you know,
those feelings I had...

They were wrong.

And those feelings you tried to push on me;
when I had the world already in my palms--
it was wrong.

But believing it...
Believing it was my key to hell.

Author notes

No; this is not about her.
Or him.
Or them.
Or you.
Or whatever the hell you may try to assume that I write about.

Don't message me about this; complaining about a situation that's more than already over.
That's ridiculous.
And this has nothing to do with it.

Please; don't read my poetry anymore if that is the only thing you will ever be able to talk about.

I'm done listening to everyone's opinions (including the POSITIVE opinions; I don't want to hear about it AT ALL) on this.

Christ.