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He Will Never Say & I Will Never Tell
I always wondered about the way we never quite got inside of each other.
I could dance with him forever because my callous hands are just as callous as his. We could never let go, and just stay in a perpetual motion of killing one another, over and over.
Blissfully, of course.
I've a weakness for fellow artists, though, our crafts aren't of the same calibre, we each create. I think that's what made me gravitate towards him, aside from his beautiful heart & soul, which he spilled in a free flowing motion.
However, the realisation of not being close enough to touch his hand or his face, before slipping my hands underneath his shirt are the little things that make me toss and turn each night.
It was about this time last year, in which all I wanted to do was lie in a garden bed full of soft petals, and cry to the stars above, whilst pleading with the Gods for a chance to be in the presence of such a graceful creature.
I lost count of all the nights I pushed all my pillows and the duvet off my bed, just so I could sleep on the floor, without anywhere to roll, longing to taste his mouth and draw upon his breath.
Selfishly, to fill myself with just a portion of his life force. While I don’t need him, I want him. And that's the difference between him, and those, that pursue me. I want the wrong in him that mirrors all the wrong within me.
We could be blissfully wrong, together, as we make a vow to repair the damage that underlies within each of us. But. It wasn't meant to be.
Loving someone, and loving the idea of someone is like a freight train that thunders and rattles right through my train of thoughts on a daily basis. It's a cruel piece of truth that I've been living with.
It’s the most cruelest truth that's ever floated upon the most realistic delusion that I’ve ever entertained myself with. As torturous as it is upon my heart, I'm extremely fond of him.
Him, who I'd give my whole entire heart to, even just to spend a moment of time in his arms but my senses tell me something just isn't right.
A fantasy is a whispy thing, but when a fantasy impregnates you with the intensity of emotion, it has the potential to sever you from all that you've known. From the inside, out.
It's like the fusion of heaven and hell, and a war rages on within the depths of me.
To look at me, no one would ever suspect that such conflicted thoughts and feelings invade my inner peace on a daily basis. He became my greatest weakness but the most sweetest.
Unfortunately, I have the uncomfortable luxury of feeling too much, and when the unspoken truths draw tears from your eyes, they become unforgettable by virtue, and then, the ongoing punishment that assaults your fragile mind is nostalgia.
I often thought about self-medicating, however, I’ve a bizarre affinity with my reality, and it’s like the urge was punishing me, once again. I have too much self respect to pay homage to my bad habits, these days.
I think it’s fair to say that the dull ache in my chest informs me that somewhere, our paths have crossed. All I wanna do is touch upon his inner fragments and make him feel things he's never ever felt before.
He’s broken, and I can sense all his brokenness because it slides nicely into mine. Perhaps, we were meant to fit together. Though, he knows how to love a woman, I fear his heart couldn't endure the kind of woman I am.
Of course, I'm not a highly composed individual in my home environment as work and home are two different places, and that's where the polarity splits, right down the middle like chalk and cheese.
I need to be nurtured, lovingly, after being pulled to pieces ferociously by his desires. Though, I suspect he's too conflicted internally to allow me the rite to enable him to liberate himself all over me.
I despise my feelings because they keep deceiving me, like the man that whores himself to be used and abused by everyone, until his heart is blackened charcoal and he becomes a walking zombie.
I often wonder whether I’d kick him outta my bed, after I drained his balls and couldn’t stand to look upon him anymore.
However, that’s a rare occurrence because I never bring a man into my home. Let alone, to fuck me in my own bed. I'd rather not have to wash my crispy sheets the next morning.
However, I don't think I'd wanna wash my sheets when it comes to him. I'd wanna be able to inhale the essence of him, and me, as we were together as an us.
At least, he’d make it into my bed the first time which means, there might be a next time. I often wonder whether he’d be something I could live without because there’d be nowhere to hide in the morning, aside from sliding onto his morning wood, to wake him gently with a smile upon his face. Priceless.
Evidently, I fell in love with a man whom I would change my whole life to be with.
I could dance with him forever because my callous hands are just as callous as his. We could never let go, and just stay in a perpetual motion of killing one another, over and over.
Blissfully, of course.
I've a weakness for fellow artists, though, our crafts aren't of the same calibre, we each create. I think that's what made me gravitate towards him, aside from his beautiful heart & soul, which he spilled in a free flowing motion.
However, the realisation of not being close enough to touch his hand or his face, before slipping my hands underneath his shirt are the little things that make me toss and turn each night.
It was about this time last year, in which all I wanted to do was lie in a garden bed full of soft petals, and cry to the stars above, whilst pleading with the Gods for a chance to be in the presence of such a graceful creature.
I lost count of all the nights I pushed all my pillows and the duvet off my bed, just so I could sleep on the floor, without anywhere to roll, longing to taste his mouth and draw upon his breath.
Selfishly, to fill myself with just a portion of his life force. While I don’t need him, I want him. And that's the difference between him, and those, that pursue me. I want the wrong in him that mirrors all the wrong within me.
We could be blissfully wrong, together, as we make a vow to repair the damage that underlies within each of us. But. It wasn't meant to be.
Loving someone, and loving the idea of someone is like a freight train that thunders and rattles right through my train of thoughts on a daily basis. It's a cruel piece of truth that I've been living with.
It’s the most cruelest truth that's ever floated upon the most realistic delusion that I’ve ever entertained myself with. As torturous as it is upon my heart, I'm extremely fond of him.
Him, who I'd give my whole entire heart to, even just to spend a moment of time in his arms but my senses tell me something just isn't right.
A fantasy is a whispy thing, but when a fantasy impregnates you with the intensity of emotion, it has the potential to sever you from all that you've known. From the inside, out.
It's like the fusion of heaven and hell, and a war rages on within the depths of me.
To look at me, no one would ever suspect that such conflicted thoughts and feelings invade my inner peace on a daily basis. He became my greatest weakness but the most sweetest.
Unfortunately, I have the uncomfortable luxury of feeling too much, and when the unspoken truths draw tears from your eyes, they become unforgettable by virtue, and then, the ongoing punishment that assaults your fragile mind is nostalgia.
I often thought about self-medicating, however, I’ve a bizarre affinity with my reality, and it’s like the urge was punishing me, once again. I have too much self respect to pay homage to my bad habits, these days.
I think it’s fair to say that the dull ache in my chest informs me that somewhere, our paths have crossed. All I wanna do is touch upon his inner fragments and make him feel things he's never ever felt before.
He’s broken, and I can sense all his brokenness because it slides nicely into mine. Perhaps, we were meant to fit together. Though, he knows how to love a woman, I fear his heart couldn't endure the kind of woman I am.
Of course, I'm not a highly composed individual in my home environment as work and home are two different places, and that's where the polarity splits, right down the middle like chalk and cheese.
I need to be nurtured, lovingly, after being pulled to pieces ferociously by his desires. Though, I suspect he's too conflicted internally to allow me the rite to enable him to liberate himself all over me.
I despise my feelings because they keep deceiving me, like the man that whores himself to be used and abused by everyone, until his heart is blackened charcoal and he becomes a walking zombie.
I often wonder whether I’d kick him outta my bed, after I drained his balls and couldn’t stand to look upon him anymore.
However, that’s a rare occurrence because I never bring a man into my home. Let alone, to fuck me in my own bed. I'd rather not have to wash my crispy sheets the next morning.
However, I don't think I'd wanna wash my sheets when it comes to him. I'd wanna be able to inhale the essence of him, and me, as we were together as an us.
At least, he’d make it into my bed the first time which means, there might be a next time. I often wonder whether he’d be something I could live without because there’d be nowhere to hide in the morning, aside from sliding onto his morning wood, to wake him gently with a smile upon his face. Priceless.
Evidently, I fell in love with a man whom I would change my whole life to be with.
Published 31st Oct 2014
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Anonymous
- Edited 31st Oct 2014 10:38am
31st Oct 2014 10:34am
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31st Oct 2014 3:58pm
such great lines. each and every one.
the thought pattern...great to think on.
the thought pattern...great to think on.
5th Nov 2014 2:28pm
