Prophecy

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
In a rush of cold feet I wrote it, stupid really looking back...

Submitted: September 29, 2007

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 29, 2007

A A A

A A A


What am I supposed to do?

When you utter those 3 short words.

They carry such meaning,

Such feeling,

Such strength.

Strength I just don’t posses.

I try to make myself love you.

But I am a flawed being

For I can’t summon a single feeling,

Of desire,

Lust

Adoration

Or infatuation.

Long after you’ve left,

Your eyes plead with me.

The little things you do for me,

Lend a jumper,

Write a love note,

Send a good morning text

Just increase my guilt.

I don’t love you.

I never will.

But to say those 4 words,

Takes nearly as much courage,

As to say those 3.

I’m sorry,

For making you fall for me.

If there was anything I could have done differently,

I would.

I selfishly hope you won’t hate me.

But then, that’s all I’ve been isn’t it?

Selfish.

Greedy.

Self - involved

While you’ve trusted me with your heart,

Something, I never desired.

Something, I’m trying not to break.

Something, I’m trying to embrace.

For you.

But you’ll never be what I want,

No matter how many times I say those words.

They mean less and less every time.

And now I cry not for myself,

But for you

And our future.

The curse of Apollo,

I will not be believed.

(Not even by me)


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