I hate this.

I hate this feeling
of being left alone
in the     darkness,
crying or bleeding,
counting          the
thousand     times
I cried about you.

I hate this.

When mirror reflects
a     different     face
of me, and get happy
about it.          When I
browse        through
the papers and hate
all the     words   that
once     accompanied
me when you all left
me.

I hate this.

When your physique
and  silhouette  still
affect     me;      the
memories             of
yesterday            still
open    the    unsaid
wounds, scars  and
tears, all left within
me.

I hate this.

I hate this longing
and loving for you,
when all you do is
leaving             me
through.