i cannot distinguish the difference between the person i am versus the person who got intoxicated by my own desires. was it my fault for being swayed by the warmth of another being. was it wrong to get accustomed waiting to be touched by the fingertips that makes me burst whenever it trails on my body. was it naive wanting to dance with the presence that doesn't want to be with me. was it wrong wanting the tender touch of another. but i can't stop thinking if it was even tender or im just deluding myself to spite the loneliness that's deeply rooted in me. despite of it, being able to feel, that someone wanted to touch me made me feel alive. the further i get to feel that feeling made me want to be touched, to be wanted more because i feel so out of place. at least someone can see me; the transparent body who's walking, breathing, existing.
YOU ARE READING
Vestige
Poetrycal's bevy of forgotten notion, thoughts, and desultory passage through poetry and prose, as this vessel continue to withstand this realm's bullshit - credits to the owner of the image that i used for the book cover -
