( is this a poem or a monologue or my rambling or bunch of words I had the world ending kind of urge to write despite everything I don't know and please don't ask me )

I couldn't even be angry at them
I truly couldn't hate them
I didn’t like me either
I didn't deserve love or hate
I felt I should be grateful for their indifference
Cause I couldn't even grant that it to myself

I was constantly aware of me and my self
It wasn't the feeling of gentle rain drizzling
It was like being constantly beat down by heavy drops , heavy as the memories they carried
It wasn't the feeling of warmth dozing by fireplace
It was like being in the fire itself burnt alive by the nightmares that plagued
Maybe it's just anxiety
Maybe it's selfishness
Maybe it's narcissistic
Maybe because no one else did
Maybe it all started with wondering why no one ever did
In the end , I could only be angry at myself
I loathed myself with all the hate I could muster
I despised myself with all the anger I had left

That hatred was so deep in my bones ,that the thought that one more moment awake ,meant one more suffering to the thing I wanted to destroy ( that is me ) in itself ,kept me awake and from destroying it …..

© myrottenpoetry_13