past

i remember long nights
corrupted by mistaken curiosity
and how the mildest touch
led to holistic admissions…
it was always a question
of how much
truth, to be a
solemn confessor
in comfort and in fear
I can’t write while cuddled
in curious chains of
misquoted and misguided actions
phonetic dungeon,
a cage of self censorship
i remember racy nights
spent with a tactical
caress, lips like fire
and time spent exploring
body and mind
moments, almost in tune
by the light of the moon
there’s always a
mix minus
words given and actions
taken away
of course I
continued to wander
though change
was never easy
it still isn’t
now i drink to remember
and i drink to forget
it’s all bad writing
haunted
with subtle reminders
outfitted in dubious motives
and highlighted by
sordid and ethereal episodes
the past never dies
it lives unfed
in a hidden corner of your mind
waiting to decay and
feed the future

it’s harder to
forget
pains past felt,
most
lift that sadness
if only for a moment
yet, all too often
there’s a tragic pull, desire
for something more
a new person, experience
and quiet revelation

 

 

 

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