Nope; This is DEFINITELY Unhealthy

I wonder if I do it for you.

I wonder if this bad
poetry,
these cry for helps,
the senseless tagging,
I wonder if you’re the reason 
I’m still writing.

And it is true,
I never wrote love poems until I met 
you.
That is something 
my ex can attest to.

However,
what started as catharsis brings more
attention and seems less
like art than it did before.
I wonder if I’m writing 
to keep myself sane
or to keep the hope alive 
that I still walk your brain.

Am I encrusted against the
grey matter or the white?
Am I a voice inside your head or
the thing that keeps you up at night?
Do you think about me in snippets or
tidal waves?
Does an image of me even cross 
your mind at all during the day?

Have you pushed me out of your head
for months now
without even a
“Good-bye”?
And if so was it letting go,
or running away 
to give the illusion that
you still had some pride?

I want to know why I’m writing.
Because it doesn’t seem like it’s for me 
anymore.
If it ever was.
I want to know if my poetry
is my way of saying,
“I’m okay” if they ever think of me
and want to catch up.

And that’s why this is unhealthy.
Because they’ve all moved on,
you see.
And here I am writing,
blogging,
wondering if they ever wonder about
if they ever check up on
if they ever hark back on memories of
me.

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