All these vitriol screams
were once a noble,
ardent affair.
After being buried
beneath the mist,
All of the scorching ire persists.
You reasoned
that you lost spark in us
after school.
Did you come upon it
on her bedroom floor?
Do all the laments
about your peer
stem from a denial
of your attraction to her?
I sound as Detective Conan
amassing all the clues
after being blind to them,
which leaves me with grave bruises.
The passion
you have today with her
proves everything.
In every line of my writing
brims with scorn at your kink's lie.
YOU ARE READING
METAMORPHOSIS: WORDS BENEATH HER MATTRESS
PoetryHer upward trajectory in her buried words.
