I want to believe this is more than sweet nothings,
More than late night whispers,
More than a temporary fix for something I can't satisfy.
I am not stupid enough to trust in your words any longer.
Not when the only reason you're here is because you miss the feeling of softened flesh under your fingertips.
I want to be more than an adrenaline rush,
More than a secret,
More than a thing to be used.
This is a form of suffering.
The kind that goes unnoticed until you're heaving tears over someone who was never really yours.
This is worse than being broken hearted,
This is being hollow save for a deep empty ache.
I want to believe this is more than a sickness,
More than an awful mistake,
More than wasted time.
And perhaps this is the hardest lesson:
To realize that you are not indebted to love me.
YOU ARE READING
The Boy That Never Forgot Their Name
PoetryStep into the life of a mystery in this poetry collection exploring romance, death,pain, and creatures out of this realm. Forget what you have learned of heartbreak and ghosts because when you walk into the forest I promise that you will know the tr...
