love is a sickness

i have so much of you in my heart,
but i do not think that i can call the feeling
within me love because there is
an overwhelming bitterness that comes
along with it that it hurts.

young, i am like a bruised
apple, soft and easily marked by passerbys.

i don’t know why, but in some strange way,
i feel as if explaining the way i 
have cared for you makes me grow sick
of you so quickly, as if you have burned me out
in these past months.

you. you are so many different people,
the ones who left me together, the ones
who told me they would stay, the ones who
used me, or the ones that ignored me.

you are the empty feeling i get when
i am sitting on the couch alone, the 
television lighting up my face in the darkness.

you are the burst of sadness i feel when
i dance in my room at night, and you are what i 
look for in every stranger i see in a crowd.

my mind has not been quiet in months, and i know
it’s silly to want someone like this, but at the same time
i am young and i am bruised and i cannot help it.

i no longer wish to understand you.

i have so much of you in my heart, but
you have made me sick with this feeling,
and when a heart is sick
you have to cut it out.