Author: Nick Ransom PM
Familiar doesn't always mean comfortable. Some times the things we know the best are the ones we hate the most.Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst - Words: 228 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 1 - Published: 06-05-10 - Status: Complete - id: 2814436
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Confused, I find myself at a familiar place,
At a familiar point in a well-worn road,
One that I'm growing to hate intensely.
A tension in my chest, reserved usually for family only
Intervenes when sleep comes my way.
A relief, reserved usually for intimacy,
Is tainted with stranger thoughts;
The encroachment of something wonderful and strange.
Something I'm not sure of,
Someone I don't know yet.
Oh, who are we kidding here?
Who expects commitment
From someone like me?
Honesty from a liar,
Compassion from a fucking asshole
Yeah, high hopes here.
My only apologies are for you,
I never meant to hurt you, but if I did
I'm sure I didn't really mean it.
Debating between self-loathing and self-love
Two unanimous decisions unamorously stupid
And far too close to the edge for my taste.
And we all know how it runs,
Deep, green, bitter and fucking mindless.
Hallucinations are a comfort,
Like visual masturbation.
And again comes the tension,
The reasons I'm supposed to be fucking medicated.
Again comes my realization
That try as I might,
I will never be who I wanted to,
Or who you wanted, for that matter.
A taste in my throat like poison,
A burn on my tongue like love.
What's the difference anymore?