One answer to a twisted, perplexed question.
Why are you pale?
Choosing your words properly? Everything you say will be used for either reconstruction or destruction within me.
I want you close your eyes and think about this - horrible flashbacks.
I want you to feel the guilt you made me feel.
I'm not sure I deserved it.
Let's see how far your immaturity will take you.
Lee's watch your pride devour you.
It doesn't seem like I'll be getting closure
So I'll keep an eye on you
And watch you search for closure
Closure from yourself
From your own stupidity
Question your own actions
See what they costed you

Do you feel guilty when I appear in your feed?

Sardonically, lightly, he trips around the argument from last night
The night-time affair-morning despair
Whiskey and gin, liquor scented promises
Still droop over the dawn's proceedings
No wonder he waned quick and rose slow last night
His instincts took form, primal release
Inhibitions lulled by the dull lust quenched senses
Now all come back to the brim
And resurface with surmounting terror in the peak of morning
What might have been found ,
In the quiet moments, between the pauses, sighs and naked glances
Has already been lost
No words escape his,
Or hers-
Save for a kiss
Once drenched with wet lust
That now gathers rust;
Hangs in the heavy silence of their confession
Where none of them utter a word,
Yet the verdict rules:
both guilty.

There is a forbidden pleasure in the poet's art
it's like having an illicit ****** liaison, is it not?
now it can be told, that's the way one felt
enticing while evasive, was her two way dance.

In the secret society meeting last full moon night
for the first time I came face to face
with the enigmatic girl, rumored to be  the mistress
of the poet I admire, for his skills of allusion and  veiled speech
she was so young and somnambulistic in appearance
her lips were so thin, the only remarkable thing
still in memory those pale lips remain,
how helpless we are in a world, curtained off
to keep our secrets in rooms of green darkness!

The poet was absent, but he was very much present by that,
as her shame intrudes when she starts conversations.I found him there.
The words whispered from her lips were not heard, however one tried
none listened to it, I bet, a poet's mistress is as curious
as an  object of art, stolen from its rightful place, I suppose

When the boat returned to the island to take us back
we were the only passengers left, at last, how strange!
In turgid waters a fallen full  moon like a snake swam
I was looking at its wriggle, creating a tragic geometry
that reminded me her thin lips, she sat next to me, motionless
her soft breathing, was rhythmic poetry I kept imagining,
till we parted exchanging a faint smile. her's was florescent.

I texted you
at 12:30 a.m.
with a beer can on my bedside table,
asked you
if you remember
how my lips taste,
told you
it's been a while
since anyone's touched me
like you used to,
added
haha, I love you
to texts that
didn't quite make sense;

I asked for it.

That's what I keep
telling myself.
It's not ****
if I gave consent,
it's not ****
if you didn't touch me,
it's not ****
if I said yes when
you offered to make me less lonely.

I remember when
that boy you were always jealous of
told me he loved me,
I remember wanting to say it back,
I remember the smell of
my mom's *****
on his breath.

I said no.
Took his arm off my shoulder,
turned my head away,
told him not to kiss me,
told him not tonight,
told him he was drunk,
he was lying to himself,
he was just lonely,
he would not love me
in the morning.

I was right.
He told me
the last thing he remembered
was sitting down next to me,
he said
sorry if I tried anything,
I said he didn't.

My point is,

the boy I loved,
longed for,
still long for,
was giving himself to me,
his flushed cheek on my shoulder,
his hands in my hair,
my name on his lips,
and I said no.

My point is,

I, whom you knew to be vulnerable,
to be empty,
to be broken,
was begging you to save me,
my desire on your phone screen,
my scars in your memories,
my cries echoing in your eardrums,
and you asked for more.

My point is,

there comes a point
in every person's life
when they are given the choice
to do the right thing,
or do the wrong thing
and convince them self
it was the only option.

My point is,

I could have been
at your doorstep,
in your bedroom,
begging,
pleading,
naked,
ready,
and the right answer
still would have been
no.

My point is,

you did not **** me,
but you made me feel violated.
You are not a *** offender,
but you are an awful person.
I did say yes,
but you should have said no.

My point is,

I may have asked for it,
but that doesn't mean
you should've given it to me.

you made me guilty
for the things  I don't know

you made me liable
for such things in my absence


you even may not care
what might happen to me

in you i'm a torn
in which you really heated most

yet , you never understand
despite of this, I care for ~you...

even though it is so very hard
and expect nothing in return

i ask myself  quite sometimes
what would i get of heating you


when I burn and sick just because of you
you would even not buy me medicine


when I become burn and behalf~dead
you might not present in my burial


and when I lost myself  just because of you
you might not even care for me more

so, I ask myself for many times and days....
and wholeheartedly  learned it so.....

of heating  someone like you that heated me so
what would this all about  in my present be


of  doing the same things like you do
what would be the good I could get too

~now that I know the truth
peace be with you  

and sorry if you won't stop thinking  of me
and sorry if i'm not what you expected me ~ to be me just for your sake.

And I learned that I should watch my mouth
Inspect the words I blurt out before they come about
Manifest into knives and cut the feelings of the listener
******* off as a natural born sinner
The friends become thinner as I manage to cut ties with my own teeth
I beat my brain and cheeks with suffering secondhand
I give birth to the bad but refuse to raise it.
-zaba