Writing down the truth
Cold liquid floods my body
Deserved guilt and shame flows in my blood
Diluting my good
Fighting red pained tears of weakness
My left eye weeps
A pathetic, pitiful drop that returns upon each wipe
I can’t allow it to flow
But I deserve to cry
I’m frightened
Frightened it will open something that I can’t contain
I’ll wait till I’m home, alone
Where I can reflect on my selfish desires
My mindless ignorance and lustful greed
Innocence? Probably not
I write as he breathes heavy next to me, carefree
My stomach drops
There was no satisfaction found
Fleeting,
Careless,
Carelessly giving away a part of me
That should remain unfamiliar
This isn’t poetry
There’s nothing poetic about
Deceiving love