We are young and this is not our doing.
The nature of our minds, still developing and growing;
Like that terrible creation tugging at the sides
of the sanity we structure, but fail to abide.
Is it guilty to do what we must to preserve our own futures
at the cost of one?
What was done was in good fun and its consequence shall be undone.
Let not this be an anchor on your breast.
Plant your seed in my garden; I will do the rest.
While you sleep, secure and sound
in your bed, mine is barred and bound.
These walls hold no comfort and now your presence
has lost its zest for feelings, fun and pleasant.
This divided line stretched between two bodies
forebodes punishment; its beauty embodies
the strings so delicately holding together
a potential miracle in a distant future;
One we are not ready to come.
What was done is done and the consequence shall be undone.
The aching is physical and steadily it grows.
Yours is an internal twisting of mental chaos that woes.
It is not a fair exchange of shared yet misplaced pains.
What one has lost the other gains.
But this is not a fair trade:
For me, for you, for anyone with this debt mistakenly made.