I’m worried for you.
I’m worried about what I’ve done with you.
I’ve buried you in the sand, grazed your skin with fingernail cuts;
half moons pattern your arms and back like wallpaper.
I shouldn’t succumb to this.
I’ve dragged you into a pit and stored you in a hollow.
I shouldn’t need to pick a random lover, I shouldn’t need them now,
urgently.
I shouldn’t crave the physical I know you yearn from me behind the
silence
that snakes around the room.
Behind the intensity and firmness of your face.
I wish I didn’t see it all so keenly, a sensory power I dredge up
from secluded stores and hidden vaults.
I shouldn’t have fallen into my own snare every single time you
pull closer, warm breath and lips and teeth,
and I push your chest away.
I don’t understand why I have to do this.
Puppet pulled on strings to do strange and filthy acts;
gaining strength and poise not necessary but pleasurable,
lying with you knowing I’m with company but feeling so alone,
so cold and dusty and ***** on the inside.
I lose myself in a moment, spending all the time
thinking in the moment.
I’m so wrapped up, I don’t hear you mutter to relax.
I will not do this with you, because it means
ultimately hurting one another, in particular you.
I will not try to encourage you, because me lying next to you
knowing you will hand yourself over, is like slipping on ice.
I taste blood in my mouth.
I think it’s yours.
I bled out years ago, over the bedroom and into the bathroom;
showering off filth and wetness and ****** handprints.
That lingering, thick smell of sweat and fluid and nothing.
I’m so sorry I can’t be strong enough to resist my shadows,
my faded lights and creeping tongues;
I’m so sorry I set them on you, like vultures given
the scent of already culled meat.
I am your predator, hunting amongst the heaving animals,
long into the stillness of the empty dawn.
I’m so sorry, sweet, that I will reach around and take something from you.
I’m so sorry I tried to protect you and betrayed myself.
I wanted to embrace you and welcome how you felt in my arms,
I’m sorry I just couldn’t express it.
I wanted to make sure to uncomplicate us; secure that safety you felt
with me guiding you too all those vulnerable places to touch together,
I’m sorry I just couldn’t express it.
I still long to try again.
Will you let me try again?
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 9:27 AM UTC
I’m worried for you.
I’m worried about what I’ve done with you.
I’ve buried you in the sand, grazed your skin with fingernail cuts;
half moons pattern your arms and back like wallpaper.
I shouldn’t succumb to this.
I’ve dragged you into a pit and stored you in a hollow.
I shouldn’t need to pick a random lover, I shouldn’t need them now,
urgently.
I shouldn’t crave the physical I know you yearn from me behind the
silence
that snakes around the room.
Behind the intensity and firmness of your face.
I wish I didn’t see it all so keenly, a sensory power I dredge up
from secluded stores and hidden vaults.
I shouldn’t have fallen into my own snare every single time you
pull closer, warm breath and lips and teeth,
and I push your chest away.
I don’t understand why I have to do this.
Puppet pulled on strings to do strange and filthy acts;
gaining strength and poise not necessary but pleasurable,
lying with you knowing I’m with company but feeling so alone,
so cold and dusty and ***** on the inside.
I lose myself in a moment, spending all the time
thinking in the moment.
I’m so wrapped up, I don’t hear you mutter to relax.
I will not do this with you, because it means
ultimately hurting one another, in particular you.
I will not try to encourage you, because me lying next to you
knowing you will hand yourself over, is like slipping on ice.
I taste blood in my mouth.
I think it’s yours.
I bled out years ago, over the bedroom and into the bathroom;
showering off filth and wetness and ****** handprints.
That lingering, thick smell of sweat and fluid and nothing.
I’m so sorry I can’t be strong enough to resist my shadows,
my faded lights and creeping tongues;
I’m so sorry I set them on you, like vultures given
the scent of already culled meat.
I am your predator, hunting amongst the heaving animals,
long into the stillness of the empty dawn.
I’m so sorry, sweet, that I will reach around and take something from you.
I’m so sorry I tried to protect you and betrayed myself.
I wanted to embrace you and welcome how you felt in my arms,
I’m sorry I just couldn’t express it.
I wanted to make sure to uncomplicate us; secure that safety you felt
with me guiding you too all those vulnerable places to touch together,
I’m sorry I just couldn’t express it.
I still long to try again.
Will you let me try again?
