Poetry About Jealousy Novels & Stories

Well, I don't know, it's part of a couple's relationship, man. "Ah." "Now, for example, she must be having sex with someone right now, and it tears me apart inside." Lipe crushed the empty beer can and threw it into the middle of the yard. "Is that jealousy?" "Yeah, a devastating jealousy that keeps me awake at night, takes away my appetite, and distracts me at work. You know how it is when you keep hammering and thinking about something, even if you don't want to think about it? Oh, no, you probably don't..."

In court, in hallway, in gardens, in forest and even on his room were filled with nothing but carcasses that he slain. Not wanting to disturb her, he suited himself collapsing into a seat across her bed, looking intently at the face of his bride. When did he become depended to this little human? That he felt tearing off his chest every time he would think of her marrying that bastard during those days she was gone. He thought that jealousy was a serious disease that might kill him one day. And for the first time if his life, he felt his throat ached so much for the suppressed emotion on his chest that it finally leaked his eyes while he gasped for an air. How can this woman do this to him?

The butler remained expressionless, "Our young lady said if you come again, we'll call the police." Nathan's smile froze on his face. He looked up at my bedroom window in disbelief, as if asking why. I stood behind the curtain, watching the scene coldly. Once, I had loved him with all my heart, yet he had tossed me aside like trash. Now, I felt nothing but disgust and hatred for him. James and Nathan—one my former brother, the other my former fiancé—had once been the most important people in my life. Now they were like two drowned rats, ruthlessly turned away at my door.

“Now you know what happens when you try to make me jealous. This is what you get. This is what I do.” Dante dragged his thumb through the mess on my stomach and smeared it higher, streaking it up my skin like a brand. His eyes were black, dangerous. “You’re marked. Don’t even think about running to another man. Don’t even think about smiling at another man. No. You’re mine to fuck. Mine to break. Mine to keep. If another bastard even breathes near you, I’ll destroy him. You’ll never belong to anyone else. Every time you feel me on your skin, remember exactly who put it there.” Heat and shame slammed into me all at once. Sticky proof of him clung to me, his jealousy rolling off him in waves s

Eyes that once held the gift of innocence and youth but gave it away for a moment of revenge, eyes that no longer cry over the silly haunting of a love that never really was or mourn the loss of the soul they once framed. I am my own creation, that is to say, I am what I created. Jealousy is the bamboo of the emotional world, growing in leaps and bounds overnight, twisting and turning itself into a tangle of half-lied truths and honest lies. A wall of ill-content and self-induced delusions with no beginning and no end: only a blinding structure of martyred torture no war machine could ever destroy. Innocence has no place here.

"Even in death, you're still trying to steal my man? Clearly, skinning you and blowing you up wasn't cruel enough." "Go to hell with your little bastard!" I shut my eyes and calmed myself. Quietly, I preserved every text and waited—for the storm that was sure to come.

It's like I could feel his desperation and need for me, our emotions mixing into desire. "I know you feel it too," he whispered breathlessly. "It doesn't matter how I feel! Emotions are dangerous and can't be trusted." I cried. "Give me a chance. The moon goddess wouldn't have made us mates if it wasn't destiny." I had to admit I did agree with him, but I just can't. Astrid had been quiet ever since we had met Killian, but this made her stir in my mind.

I was shocked by the level of jealousy that overcame me. With a burning acid in my stomach it clawed at my throat. I detested this emotion. The taste of burnt toast being confined in this mansion and Tuesday mornings were all things I detested more than this. I shouldnt be jealous because he was a monster—a cold-blooded cunning emotionally deranged gargoyle in a custom suit. It wasnt fair. I should be appalled. Even more relieved that he was obviously seeing someone else demonstrating that he wasnt some sort of siren beckoning me to my demise. As though trying to persuade the fabrics very fibers I screamed angrily into the duvet

It made me want to shake her, to wake her up to the reality of the situation. But no, instead I was stuck here, seething with jealousy and frustration. I couldn't believe I'd let things get to this point. I'd always thought of myself as the calm, rational one, the voice of reason in our little trio. But now...now I was just a mess of emotions, a tangled web of anger and resentment. I paced back and forth across the room, trying to burn off some of the excess energy coursing through my veins. But it was no use. I was stuck in this toxic cycle of thoughts, unable to escape the crushing weight of my own jealousy.

“You see, Clarissa, true destruction never comes from brute force. It comes from within. It comes when you take an enemy’s own alliances and twist them against her.” Clarissa tilted her head, watching her mother with admiration laced with greed. “And Helena will be the perfect instrument.” “Precisely.” Cynthia’s smile was razor-thin. “Because jealousy is a powerful poison. It needs only the right hand to pour it.” Their guest shifted uneasily now, suddenly aware that she had handed them something far larger than she intended. She had wanted to gossip, to preen, to be important. But now she could feel the chill in the air, the sharp edges of Cynthia and Clarissa’s intent.