darkness consumes
our banter is as good as ever.
we both have quick tongues
that seek to lash out whenever possible.
our irritation is a show,
but we share looks
no one catches.
our secrets will stay
in the dark
with our sordid encounters.
Lovelorn and bored,
I sit in dive bars
and wait for someone
to buy me a drink.
“What are you reading?
May I sit there?
Can I get your number?”
are all valid questions,
but I don’t get anything
from these guys.
They reek of alcoholism
and too many lovers.
my bare leg kept brushing yours
beneath the table
away from prying eyes
and judgments being passed.
i’m just not ready
to look you in the eye quite yet.
(Source: dearmisslovelorn)
how can we still be friends
when you cast me aside
like yesterday’s leftovers?
I thought I had long outgrown this,
but you insist on this child’s play.
meaning
every touch and look means something.
so don’t let your hand linger
or glance at me quickly.
I know what it all means,
but I’ve done this dance too many times
and my memory has lapsed.
I’ve forgotten the steps.
eight of thirty: this is new
I couldn’t quite meet his eyes;
there was something dark
and yet to be revealed in those eyes.
I wasn’t ready to see
what lie beneath the surface.
There is one this I know for certain—
I didn’t need his hands cupping the flame,
but I wanted them to stay there.
the world is cruel
to pass judgement
on you and me.
only we can know
the truth,
how it all happened.
everyone can warn us,
but we’re a bit like a train wreck.
can’t tear the attention away
and powerless to stop it.
I find it unnerving
you keep looking back at me
as if I’m going to break
into a million tiny pieces.
I’ll try to stay strong
and not fall apart
in front of you.
and so it goes
let’s pretend that
we didn’t—
wait, did we?
that’s what i like to hear.
i’m not kidding.
what happened?
sit. i’ll explain.
you came to me,
sobbing and crying.
you held your hands out to me
(they’re small and soft and delicate),
but could not get a grip.
your mind was racing
and your mouth was moving just as fast
until i covered you with my lips.
you clasped your fingers around mine
and I knew we would be all right.
I sleep on your side,
hoping that your impression left
something a little bit more,
but my dreams are still the same.
You’ve moved on and are malicious,
flaunting your new lover in front of me
vehemently whispering your escapades to me…
I wake, drenched in sweat.
It’s a dream, only a dream,
but the groggy anger i feel
grows stronger the more it plays and plays.
Am I just driving myself insane?
Or would you really treat me that callously?
