inequality

a slideshow holocaust at every funeral
makes you come home bleeding
and you never could stop feeling
till the lights are out and i steal your mouth
but not your kisses.

and your smile fades before your eyes do
as i inch closer, head stuffed
with other people’s wisdom and more
memories of thing that didn’t happen
than of those that did,
and touch your lips.
i’m beginning to believe this is as close as i’ll ever get.

and now we’re flush out of time
and flush with the knowledge
of just how far you’d be prepared to go
to keep me.

i tire, and – and i grow used to self-deceit
and the odd way our compromise plays itself out
because yes, darling, i am aware
that i’m looking for the wrong kind of comfort
in the wrong place, but you never seem to mind it.
you can’t guilt trip me on this.
i thought i’d made that clear.

and i couldn’t hate myself more than i do now
but you’ve never shown a sign except a smile
that by now you can quietly recognize me
steeling myself
and breathing, oh how i am in love with this
this ever quenching feeling of
no longer being lonely.

& on my better days
i introduce myself as
both of your girlfriends.

except for the fact that we can’t. you can’t.
leaving me star struck and you quiet and
sick with warding me off.
“thank god you’re here.” and
like you’d said too much you amended:
“forget it.”

“forget it” is a good policy.
i try. she helps:
hold me just a little closer
and i can forget we’re only friends.
my conscience rests easy.
it’s a question of convenience.

& sometimes i ask myself if you can feel this inequality,
or if it even matters, or if you even care.
and one of these days i’m going to be too busy for you
and too successful
but until then.

a/n: this is a combination of two opposite stories. mixing them together is me turning around and saying, Christ, how can someone who’s been in the position of being the wanting slip into being the wanted so easily? and so heartlessly. so that’s basically it – someone who’s been used and then turns around and uses someone else without taking a breath. it’s a companion piece tobest this way, which isone of the stories, and thenheart of gold which is about the other one. this is all in the past, except heart of gold which is gradually becoming something better, i think, buti want to say anyway, to the person best this way is about/for (but sincerly doubting she'll read this) : i don't blame you. not one bit. and i'm sorry for doing that to you. i should have realized the position i was putting you in. and i love you & miss you, as always. x