Sweet in its own form
Unescapable but brilliant
To lose yourself into it
Throwing away
The moment or a day
A satisfying drug
A guiltful pleasure
That leaves you desiring
Craving
Longing
For that one thing
Which despises reality
Because you as well
Wish to end it

I loved. I did but never said. Words were petty, I said. She never knew.
This is obvious, but not technically contact. This is the plea.

This is for you. Sold out for a good reputation, like all the others, I am condemned to guiltful struggle. There is no magic here, so no redemption.

Can you taste the skism? Can you sense the hurt? My heart is bleeding into the sink, onto the metal, onto my fault.

I was waiting to tell you. To tell you I love you, with my entire existential. It was for you. For your laugh, for your affection, for your smile. If a day went by wherein I didn't make you laugh, it was a bad day, a bad, bad day. You are my success, the investment in hope.

I was waiting to tell you on our one year anniversery. I do believe in love. I've seen it now. I've touched it with the tips of my fingernails and sailed across it until the little hairs stood up for more.

This isn't a guilt trip. At least, not for you. Let's keep the poem short and our gaze long. But, too late. I loved you. I never told you. You told me.

Words can be broken. So can hearts.

[enter insomnia]

each day I push the stone
each day I tread the waves
each day I carve the marble

but when

when will I see peace —the long-craved result of all this guiltful carving?
when will I breathe feely, free of tons of tons pushing and pulling on me from every side?
when will the stone break over the mountain and bring rest?

when will forgetfulness step out from the block and free me from my bonds by saying,
"enough tears, I've come to end your suffering"?