No more expecting things others cannot provide, in some hopeful oasis it will be different this time, demoted from friendship to sexual napalm, it’s my fault, writing was on the wall; the need to be loved is either true or false, days after our first passionate kiss, doesn’t mean that things have to change, if love was true, feel excitement, not guilt and shame;

My love won’t be born out of the false, dependence like a parasite to a host, I want love, true love, where I need it most, all parts of me, heart and soul, where I can cry in his arms, unafraid to choke, on my tears, unalarmed, he’ll hold me close, challenge my thoughts, give me room to grow, not leave in a panic of long denied lust, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, our ship has sailed;

R-I-P ‘us.’

Emily C. Poésie © 2018


2 thoughts on “Napalm

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