journal · poetry


Always looking
never seeing
touching but not feeling
hearing without
wanting less
than lusting
but not loving
and truthful
without honesty.
Where was it?
but never there.
Where were you?
but never here.
Who are you?
you never knew.
Why bother?
Because I was
right in front of you
for the taking.
My mistake
My choice to make
my skin to taste
my trust to break
my time to waste
my heart to rake
and why must you make
all of us suffer
with you?
Is that what we get
for loving you?
You’re convenience
at its worst.


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