this is the end

maybe he's getting you back
for all you ever did to him,
and by did, it is really
ignored.

there is an amount
a fair amount, for sure,
of time you should have prepared
and served to him,
but was wasted on other things.

the glitter in your body
the substance,
it was never created
for just one being;
it was create for many.

voices, hair,
teeth, soft lips and
red tongues,
they sparkle a symphony
to whoever may hear
such high-pitched tunes.

more importantly,
since that one moment in history,
you will always dream, wonder,
dread,
what he once slipped up, and did.

it's a guilty pleasure,
but also a fear,
a cry,
a hate.

you know,
know know know
know, know.

it's so obvious,
yet you can't formulate it
in words.

someday it's going to come
someday, you'll still be expectant,
some day,
you'll still not care.

everyday,
you will always have love,
always have hate,
and always have knowledge.

just like
every other
day.

everything is veiled.
and that is how
it should be.

self-hate, world love.

balloons in throats,
acrid tastes
floating across palettes.

maybe your thoughts,
your fears,
will never make their way
from synapses
to megabytes.