Sun-kissed and pretty, so sweet and ready.
Radiant innocence and a lack of anything but naivety,
she speaks to me,
but not to me, to the me she knows and hopes me to be-
me.
But not, of course, who is it really?
Past sighs and lover's cries,
why, why, why, why,
why align with such a guy,
a trickster, a cheat, a piece of shit such as me?
Why? Because sometimes an impasse is what we need.
Our lives our tasteless without some heart to bleed.
Bleed and bleed, then bleed some more
and between bitter frozen beautiful lips
ask what it was for, ask it whore. But
avoid the allure of that door,
my sweet mistake
and nothing more.
Never so much as a sorry,
no questionable apology.
No closure, visions of ecstasy, epiphany, or steady apathy.
Our eyes met and dilated unanimously,
and me:
I'm sorry,
I'm sorry,
I'm sorry,
I'm sorry,
I'm sorry,
I'm sorry,
etc.
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