Every night I used to run my fingers across the railing,
Fixing my eyes on the floor.
I'd drag the blackout leather until it was safe to look,
Until I'd doused the outside in safer shades,
Until my room was drenched in darkness and discomfort.
I'd find my way back to bed,
Drooping as if I had just lacerated my conscience.
Now, the door is locked
And you lie on my bed,
Coarsely confiding your pleas
for me,
to me.
I told myself there was no reason to be afraid, no reason to shun the love we had found.
You lured me into my bed, and we basked in the sunlight.
The thrill of the exposure bronzed my skin.
I ran my hands up and down your body,
Savoring the sensation while it lasted.
Then, I suddenly heard those years leap back into your voice.
"Pull the blackout curtains down"
And every kiss just accentuated those deviant, surplus years.
All I felt was the stubble on my chin,
The gravel in your lungs,
The history embedded in your eyes.
CZYTASZ
Confession|ACR 2
PoezjaConfession is a poetry anthology that seeks to unnerve and evolve the contemporary style through its brutal analysis of the issues that plague the young, modern zeitgeist. Its judicial theme of confession creates an unforgiving and relentless pace t...
