Sufferance.

I deem myself as an epitome of patience. With all the chaos around, I'm at peace. I sustain the calmness.
No sapien would get a hunch of relentless throes I'm suffering. They see me like the blue sky on a sunny, windless day. But in there, inside my head, I'm like an ocean at night, when the storm is coming, with the tides rising and falling every second. I'm like a clock, every tick stabs me and every tock takes the knife out so it could stab me again. It looks like the nature has entrusted me with the task of staying quiet and still. Because if I spit out the grief, it won't stop, like blood flowing down the veins, that never stops. And I might infect this world with my anguish, because now the blood flowing in there is black, poisoned, with the venom of my thoughts. And the living will stop breathing, and the dead will cry out, because it'd be hard for them to take in so much suffering.

Feelings.

You were too busy listening to them, their pain, their grief, their agony, their anguish, their heartbreaks that you forgot to notice mine. And that hurts more than anything. That leaves me in the dimension where I don't live nor I die. And I feel terrible. It scares me.
You gave me so much that it's hard to ingest the minor shots of happiness now.
And what am I left with? For all I had was you. And your love.
Now, I am unarmed, I've lost my armor and my shield. I've lost my sweetness and bitterness. And I'm left with bleakness and darkness. You snatched away my feelings and left me with the emptiness.
What do I do with these fragments? I cannot fathom these bits of words into rhyming poems no more. You deprived me of my feelings. Was my pain not intriguing? My heartaches, weren't they as captivating as theirs? I wish I could get my answer in your eyes like I did before. I so wish!