Can you breathe?
It's like there's a lump in your throat.
You look death in the face.
You indulge in sin.
But what does it all mean?
What does this all mean?
An escape.
To what you really are.
To what you really want.
It's him though.
He drives you to all your wildest fantasies.
It's him though, not her.
It's him.
You indulge in sin.
You indulge in his scent.
As you stroke her hair,
you take a peek at his countenance.
It's him, not her.
And you don't want to be the one to hold her,
You want to be the one to lie asleep in his arms.
Surrounded by his strength.
Surrounded by his love for you.
Not shower her with your love.
You're sorry.
You want to walk as far as possible
and then come back to have the guts
To tell him
To tell him, not her,
That you love him
Not her.
It doesn't matter if you shed tears,
It doesn't matter if you look pathetic
It shouldn't matter if she gets hurt
She'll understand
She understands
That you love him
And not her.
A/N: Day 7 of 100 Days of Poetry, written on July 29th. I was inspired by an accidental topic my friends and I've to admit I'm sort of a fan of BL. I made the drawing to accompany this piece
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Pinwheels and Dead Leaves
PoetryThis is a compilation of my works in the year of 2016. I was pretty active that year, really inspired by love and friends, and started reading and discussing philosophical things. It was also the year that our group the Ice Cream Club did the 100 da...
