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the silence was words

Poetry By: Comte de Acheron

Tags: Guilt

Oof. Old guilt po-em.

It is not worth it.

Submitted:Dec 28, 2012    Reads: 5    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   

she offered me a blunt
i turned it down
looked into her eyes
and hid my frown

because that night
she lay by my side
guilt like a tide
in my liquid confidence.

her warm body pressed
right beside mine
felt like a coward
because i wasn't holding her

(there is a mutual longing
and caved in chests
between two bodies
submerged in warmth)

she's cold, she says
so i come in closer
with the dare of her lips
i always foretold

(but i'm weak
terribly weak
hardly a man
at all.)

as she came in closer
and pressed her lips against mine
my entire body tingled
as our souls morphed and mingled -

pull away.

and a bond
of comforting silence.

and she went in again
as my insides churned
as my emotions clashed
yearning and dysphoria
what a bloody curse -

she shouldn't have done that.
(it's all my mind says
despite the fact that i wanted it
and needed it
and gazed wistfully into myself
just for the sake of it.)

after a long night of staring
at the ceiling
and thinking
as she lay beside me
clung on to me
running her fingers across my collar bone
and going in again
tightening her grip -

a deluge of guilt returns,

but i want more.

that perplexing flood returns,

yet i still want more.


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