Tendrils

Tendrils of pain

of guilt so strange

A no, a yes ; would it have mattered?

Yes, a yes would have been a lie

A lie in action ,a lie in my soul’s heart

It would taint, it would kill what we have

what we had

It would not have been a a mere acceptance

It would be the rejection of truth

 

You give me revenge

you give me pain, your pain in form of words

The tendrils of your anguish, the past that was a month ago

 

You do not forgive me

I apologize for I know not

 

Every once in a while, your fingers type out words

words full of anger, love, anger and the knowings that I will read it

 

You are messing with my nature, my chaotic mind cannot take more chaos

These letters of how you feel , aimed at me, written to me but never do they reach me explicitly

 

The open, unhidden words are sparse but almost happy

Almost you

 

But the other words

You do not even try to hide.

 

It is insane, it is evil

And it is you.

 

How long can I continue

to take this wrath

to hear your voice recite your own poems

 

Something breaks inside me

Each time I read those words

Each time you say

‘past’

‘beloved’

‘lost’

‘numbness’

 

I am seethed by a wave of cold that passes over my insides

I despair, over I know not what?

 

Each time I think of throwing it all back at you

Screaming at you to stop

Killing you in the process

 

I stop

 

I just heard your voice

 

You sounded so

small, so weak, so tired

You are a little kid

A child

I could never offer you pain

I could never intentionally kill you

I could never.

 

But tomorrow

 

I will once again feel the urge to yell

Yell out your name

To quote Webster

I will once again feel the urge to utter a loud cry

A cry of help

A cry of attention from you

But,

 

Do I have in me?

the right to arrest your need to express

your cathartic experience

your literary prowess

 

Sigh,

 

But ,

Shall It be possible

To explain to you that I love you

hence I can not love you

What lines does this love create

This situation is inexplicable

hence best not uttered

 

So am I granting you a reprieval

The reprisal for the anguish you have caused me

it is not empathy

It is pure pure pain for the one I love

Love so deeply

The love you can never fathom

 

 

Oh wait

I forgot the

the ending

The end to every beginning

The day I will get so used to your ranting

the day the frequency will fall to once in six months maybe

The day you will forget

that there was a queer love

an unrequited love

 

 

Your memory will flush me out

Hah

There will be fresh pain

Fresh as the green leaves and the due that I always miss

 

You will pretend that you almost did not notice

There will be a couple of sparsely apart poetry about that too

A last reminder

The last of its kind

 

Then

The end to these tendrils of pain

of excitement

of anguish

of strange queer

quaint love

of being wanted

of being revered

of guilt

of truth

of past

of youth

 

Will end

 

 

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