not immune, but blind and used to
what your habits do to you.

two bodies
parallel
one is lost
the other dwells

one sees the other
and watches, invisibly
but there's no sense
in plea
because neither of them
can break free

from the roots
of this old tree.

One has loved, though,
endlessly,
has watched the other,
helplessly.

the word for when
you're so afraid
that when days end
they're gone forever -

always before bed
i feel this dread
as if tomorrow
will not have this again.

i hate that feeling
it is like standing at the edge of a cliff, wavering
between how beautiful and how long the drop

you are so pathetic;

you cannot see your entrapment unless it is your predator's very teeth bared onto your skin

that is what she said to me as I kissed the flower's of my prisoned paradise.

there are times when my voice gives into the devouring worm
that is the silence,
that is the pull between your thoughts,
the tug of hate and love.

who do you let win,
because it is up to you.
but when you must choose who does lose,
there is no trophy for selfish choices,
there is no winner in this wordless crime.

i have loved and ached
and sought after those things you two once shared -
compared to now, we are impaired
of this balance between
too little and too much -

a lack of patience and of touch