It's just your guilt talking,
out of the sly corners of its mouth.
The *****, shame filled face, 
with its dark sad eyes.
It's just your guilt talking 
my love,
lying through its crooked teeth, 
bending and swaying like a rotten tree in a gale. 
Its story never the same, 
never with a hint of truth or of sense.
It's just your guilt talking,
worry rusting its bones
Regret.
Remorse.
 
Eye contact, 
what is eye contact? 
It has never existed 
in the dark eyelessness of your guilt.
Fear, my love, 
fear of repercussions, 
of my assumed hatred, 
of confrontation. 
It's just your guilt talking,
trying to avoid the thought 
of me, 
of what we had, 
and the way you threw it as far away as possible.
And now you will never be able to find it in the wildness, 
and the wideness,
of your guilt.
 
Your guilt,
a field of crumbling stone, 
of parasitic weeds. 
With a black yet rainless sky.
Stealing your life,
your heart. 
******* it down into the toxic earth,
of your guilt.

I want you, with every fiber, nerve, molecule of my being.
My ****** muscles stretch themselves into a smile when I see you.
Not caring to hide their eagerness.
My hands move for your perfect, strong self, without my permission.
Like a magnet they are drawn.
Forcefully with shame and anger I remove them.
Frustrated that I have grown weak again.
That I, this infatuated, pathetic version of myself cannot look at you as off limits.
Cannot force myself to think of you as a friend.
Anything less than all of you is torture.
Anything less than complete wholeness in you is a nightmare
That keeps repeating itself over and over and over.
Everyone can see my struggle.
I can't hide it, believe me, I've tried.
I cannot make myself care about their derision.
I am envious of anyone that is allowed to touch you.
I long for closeness.
Not in general.
Not out of sadness or loneliness or "frustration".
But because I want, I need to be yours.
With or without consequences.
With or without a fierce inner struggle.
I would rather be with you on our worst of days, then to be with anyone else on their best.
Because they cannot mean as much to me as you do.
I crave your attention like a convict craves his final supper on death row.
With an insanity, an eagerness, a hunger no one ever feels.
No one ever wants to feel.
You electrify me with your very spirit.
You ****** me with your very presence.
Take me, want me, hold me, feel me, love me, or ******* hate me.
I don't care what you do, just do it with me.
You are not mine... That pain is white hot, deep down in my lungs.
Making it difficult to exhale.
Seeing you is a sigh of relief, but it is always closely followed by a blackness.
The knowledge that I will never receive your love.
She knows, always has. She hates me for it.
Who can blame her?
But she has you, God help me she has you.
The thing I want the most and she doesn't realize how precious, how priceless that is.
I see the disdain, the hatred, the fierce protection in her eyes.
She holds you tighter.
I feel a thrill.
She thinks that I, a small insignificant person could actually manage to rip you away from her.
Her naivety is astonishing.
My crazed hope is everything she dreads.
I'd wish to get over you...
To forget, to fall into a deep catatonic peace.
Dream of you no more.
But this addiction is sickly sweet, a deathly syrup that I don't want to give up yet
... I can't give up yet.
This hope is the only thing keeping me going.
These stories I tell myself, these dreams I barely let myself remember. They keep me sane.
Not happy,
Not content, but sane.
Please God don't take my hope away