It's 2 am and it feels like I just met a friend that it went so easy to foresee—the beauty of the future of what we could be. I am only yours when you said I was clean for you, never thought you were obdurate against the self-loathing I was dwelling for.
Lord, why does it had to be him; I fell to a juvenile sin—small years did not meet, I guess I was too old for him. I resisted those dreams, if only I knew sooner how young was he; I inadvertently crossed the society's maturity grid.
Don't blame me, oh Lord, my drug is my baby, and I would let myself be addicted for the rest of my life.
Abduct me, oh Lord, conspire with the universe, too, keep cursing me and I would do likewise out of existence.
Is it an act of benevolence or divine and moral malevolence? If I had the white slip of consent, would we be freed from shame and secrecy?
If we are ever born again, please, Lord, let us two meet again. Evade us to oblivion, give us ample amount of years to prepare, and more years together to love and conquer.
YOU ARE READING
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.
