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]

Don't talk about it.
Within the whole fit
Of alcoholism
There exists a skism
Of sorts,
That exports
The deviant aspects
Of life, expounding on regrets
Future and past.
Bombast
The standing
Circumstance.
Don't talk about it,
But the though doesn't quit.
Just permit
One lasting comment
Each one out of their mind.
Each one looking to find
Somebody,
Or, some shoddy
Example of another life.
Each one is hinged to strife
And dismay.
Looking to one day
Get away.
Looking for someone else to just stay.
Or to say
Something pretty.
It's ******
Enough just being.
Each one only seeing
The bad side of it.
...
Don't talk about it.
Just one more thing...
It will bring
Absolutely nothing, but,
Remember the bite.
Like a small, lustfilled, light.
It, felt, right.
A small touch
Isn't a crutch.
It wasn't much
More.
One can deplore
Desire
But admire
The effort.
Except for...
Don't talk about it.
I quit.
I can't
I won't
It's scant
That I detract.
There exists desire
And not an aquisition to aquire.
But, I
Can't help but sigh.
Even though my
Other shifts to cry,
I won't speak.
A hand she seeks.
And I give,
With the warmth of a shiv
To touch her face.
She's come from a strange place.
I won't speak.
For once, one, is not meek.
Friends before
But for a second, a little more.
Don't talk about it.
Don't let it persist
Like it was pretty.
Remember the city
And the stars.
There was no trip to Mars.
Remember "mistake",
For it can make
Friends...
But to what end?
Why is it important
There are no memories to sort and
Nothing to find.
In this mind
It exists as nothing.
No bluffing
No feeling
No realing
Just two
Of a few
Who
Wanted
Nothing left stunted.
No whelp
No cry for help.
Don't talk about it.
Yet, I sit
And think,
And no it wasn't the drink.
It was lonliness.
What did I miss?
Placation of desires and Nothing more.
She walked out the door
And was gone.
I sang no sad song
And it wasn't wrong.
Don't talk about it?
Fine, I submit.
I quit.
This is it.