Once upon a time, one wrecked my heart. His glare was strong and I was in defense. Somehow, I gave away my heart and body for him to inflict it with pain again. Yet, failed and failed, another chance wasn't gifted.
The torture is what I missed after months of longing and lonesome reminiscent concupiscence. Soothing a hard skin from calefactive fantasies: acrobats gliding while following the febrile intensity of a Renaissance music under expensive crimpled sheets.
Was I to blame if I had ridden the subject in the figment of my imagination? Was I to blame for our sudden dissatisfaction on reciprocated gratification? Those moments shared may have been addictive, a sadistic dominating the subjective innocent, and marking his delicate feminine body, but the repetition of the same roles made us weary.
If only we focused on our future, rather than being left on our devices playing the same old game then fighting every defeat. I wish we could've bonded like how we were dating last summer with the breeze by the bridges while kissing, it is what we were missing.
Where would those dreams and lascivious nights be, if the impossible reconciliation of two hearts congealed by fate are just stuck indelibly in our memories on lonesome vivid fantasies?
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UNCENSORED (For Publication)
PoetryThis book is all about betrayals on friendships, invalid feelings, untangled fates, and taciturn and morose secrets. This is currently in the state of revision.
