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






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



Do I have in me?

the right to arrest your need to express

your cathartic experience

your literary prowess




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


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



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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