I D-O-N-T T-H-I-N-K T-H-I-S W-O-R-K-S F-O-R
U-S
You speak of it like it is this truce, a product of our good humour and commitment to etiquette.
You speak of it like it'll mask your malice, saturate intention with goodwill.
Or perhaps dilute the potency of your denials.
How many times do I have to tell you.
There is no Us.
Just you!
Just you!
-And me.
Just you lying on your bed, the colours of the free running down your chiseled chest.
Just you and rainbow trinkets, memories you're allowed to savour.
Just you lying on your bed, drinking beer and burping, like a man.
Just me lying on my bed, tethering myself to my phone, ripping open portals and salivating at the colours they wear;
Begging fortune to bless me with the fabric they flaunt, begging God to restrain me with them.
Just you eating cheesecake,
Just you thrusting your hands down your pants,
Just you glugging anesthetic and reaping from the plethora of boys.
Just me, sewing the waistbands to my bellybutton, savoring the sting, relishing in the predictable feeling of punishment,
Appeased by its rhythm.
Just you, running your fingers across the railing, and staring out at the utopia, that vista that you defend your place in with such vehemence.
Just you, conquering, obsessing, emphasising, growing, accentuating.
Just me, bloodying my knuckles for a glimpse of you.
Just me, choking on the dust excreted from the parchment of our letters.
[You wrote them quick like orders, dense with abbreviations]
Just me, coarse and vulnerable.
Just me, guilty and condemned.
Just you, scrolling through your feed and remedying your inadequecies with the tender replicas of the Establishment.
Just me, plastering my walls with those replicas,
Plotting surgeries.
Whilst it may be just a colloquialism,
Just a vessel of your ease,
There is no Us.
There is just you.
There is just him.
There is just me.
There is just your ease, your needs, your strength, your dictations, your experience.
There is just my virginity
and your filthy fingers.
There is no Us,
Not even if you love me.
Not even when you love me.
Not even if I love you.
Not even when I love you.
As long as you are for my love,
As long as you are the fantasy,
As long as you are the temptation,
As long as you are the lover,
You will always, always, fall on the other side of the line.
YOU ARE READING
Confession|ACR 2
PoetryConfession 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...
