There’s being full, a fool,
a fool in love— I can’t tell
which one I am to you; whole,
or just half-truth dressed in
something that feels true.
Obsessed— dream-fed, still
needing your kisses; glued
to skin on skin; something
that stitches, but is this love…
or repeated fixes?
Heart up front—yet I front
my heart; why race you,
just to play a part?
Love is blind— a blindfold gift
you never see; I hand you gold;
you hold it differently.
Bittersweet; see-through ties/lies
I still maintain; past plays back,
redirects—and love just plays
again: oh, what a forgetful,
blind, ignorant cycle.
Mar 23
Mar 23, 2026 at 4:14 AM UTC
There’s being full, a fool,
a fool in love— I can’t tell
which one I am to you; whole,
or just half-truth dressed in
something that feels true.
Obsessed— dream-fed, still
needing your kisses; glued
to skin on skin; something
that stitches, but is this love…
or repeated fixes?
Heart up front—yet I front
my heart; why race you,
just to play a part?
Love is blind— a blindfold gift
you never see; I hand you gold;
you hold it differently.
Bittersweet; see-through ties/lies
I still maintain; past plays back,
redirects—and love just plays
again: oh, what a forgetful,
blind, ignorant cycle.
A conflicted reflection on love—caught between feeling whole and feeling played, where obsession, vulnerability, and past patterns blur the line between truth and illusion.
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