The Hidden Truth
- Reads 14
- Votes 2
- Parts 1
Ongoing<5 mins
Last published Mon, Aug 3, 2020
This poem is about conflicting feelings that the writer is experiencing but fails to express it openly as a result its killing the writer deep down inside.
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His mistress
Loving him was the cruelest kind of torment-a love that lived in the shadows, one that could never bask in the warmth of the sun. I was nothing more than a stolen moment, a whispered name in the dark, a secret he tucked away between the life he had built and the one he wished he could have. I knew, deep down, that I was a fracture in his story, a fleeting escape from the weight of his reality. And yet, I still clung to him, to the illusion that for a few precious hours, he was mine. But the truth was relentless-it came in the form of unanswered texts, in the way he dressed hurriedly after loving me, in the way he said her name with the same tenderness he once gave me. I had given him my heart, knowing he would never be able to keep it, and yet, I loved him still. Loved him as I watched him walk away, loved him as he returned to the arms of the woman he truly belonged to, loved him as I drowned in the loneliness he left behind. Because no matter how much I wished it to be different, I was not his home-I was just a place he visited before going back to where his heart truly lived.Complete
Epeolatry
Further poetry; that which I cannot preemptively describe.
(Discontinue) You hurt me, Now the darkness had swallowed me. It hurts me to see you happy. The voices won't stop whispering. It hurts me to see I'm not making you laugh anymore. Now I completely fall to the darkness, alone.
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