It is in these moments late at night that I evaluate your caress,
the way your hands shape my body
and how
your lips criticize my secrets,
in what was meant to be acceptance.
I lay drowning in my own misunderstood falsified memories.
Trying to recall the wake of your voice
only to find a week hum.
How is it that I feel haunted by you when you
are still
here.
It is in these moments that I attempt to make myself a martyr
when in fact,
I already tied your noose.
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 11:11 PM UTC
It is in these moments late at night that I evaluate your caress,
the way your hands shape my body
and how
your lips criticize my secrets,
in what was meant to be acceptance.
I lay drowning in my own misunderstood falsified memories.
Trying to recall the wake of your voice
only to find a week hum.
How is it that I feel haunted by you when you
are still
here.
It is in these moments that I attempt to make myself a martyr
when in fact,
I already tied your noose.
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