All my pretty little boxes
Qualia of containment. Quintessence of compartment.
Compress, contort, confuse.
I am going to take a break to write my love swan song
so many things I wish.
Nope nope nope nope nope
I am not playing
I am… I don’t know…
I am not doing this anymore
I am at work and this should not be happening.
I know it’s you.
All of them… I know it’s you.
How do I know?
Because I know YOU
I love you but I am afraid. Not of you. But of what I do. When I’m with you.
S. M. A&P, … wait. I dont want to accidentally spell something unintentionally revealing or painful.
I know you. Just trust that. And… I love you. But… I’m embarrassed and can’t believe I did that.. to you
When I was so… aware of my issues… I did it again anyway.
… I dunno… when the evening star rises again.
Maybe.. annoyingly… Halloween
I’ll be ready again.
— pewpew. lol~~~~¤
This is a poem. But it’s not. I wouldn’t mind editing it later to make it sound better. But I want my intentions known. Why I clicked you out. Because I knew I had to do this for me. To be me. For you. And for us. And we can reunite again.. just not yet. Not now.
(But it’s not for ever. Ok? Remember. November…)
Categories: Mundane trite