12 23 05

A simple taste. Fingers interlaced. I walk away.
No more surprises, you are free.
Free from her, free to hate
away from everyone that made you bleed

So I guess by default, I'm liberated, too.
I read to you, absence of fear. I walked away,
then why am I still here?
It's up to me, you always say. Go on:
why don't you walk away?
All you are is all for me, less your devotion.

Oh, it hurts to be second-best.
It hurts to be lying next to you, undressed,
clutching at whatever hand you offer.
Am I content?
then why is every consequence
another product of your conquest, for something that will never be,
and never be yours?

Your breath is hot and heavy on my shoulder.
I accept, I will address no problem.
You don't like it, but you let it go
never denying me
we kept it safe and slow.

And I can rest knowing you'll have me again
mouth-shaped stains, the back of your neck.
This will be the best transgression yet.
If I try hard enough, maybe it will fade into the pale planes of your skin
then you'll let me in
We can forget I ever spoke a word of dissent.

I can rest knowing I am yours
but if you're truly mine, I'm not so sure.
Still I can hold on, and climb into bed
and press myself against you with a quiet urgency
and a clear head.

Oh, it hurts to be second-best.
it hurts but I can forget.
I am content,
though I am not the thought in your mind,
nor the one you pain to leave behind.
But I am free:
You always leave it up to me.
I choose to stay.