The crime isn't that I hate you.

It isn't that Your presence

Thickens the air around me so much,

(when you come near

bathed in your fear

and drenched in mine)

or that your putrid significant entry

(into any place where I am)

revolts my body

into suffocation.


The crime isn't that I went for the guy

(I knew you liked)

and sucked him off

in your bed

in your house

at your party

(which was shit

and no mistaking it).

And not that I left the boy there

in post-ecstatic bliss

half-naked on the dirty sheets

where I knew you'd find him.

Boys are such easy objects for spiteful plans

(and gross affections)


The crime isn't the way I tell everyone

all the things you don't want me to tell,

all the secrets and trusts you invest in me.

(I'm a bank of your scandals and I pay

your interst in (your) insecurities)

You now qualify of the Platinum Card

(of dirty, dirty secrets)


The crime isn't the continuation of this


despite all the pain I've put you through

and all the things I've done to you

whilst staying your

Best Friend

all the same.

Our friendship has years in time.

(But also tears for the crime

and the crime's unveiling.)


The crime is that

Through it all




in the down and dirty

grim and gory

primaeval sense of the words.

A feeling that was past yearning, beyond desire

but a fundamental need

for your body.

And for that crime,

I will serve my sentence;

a life of solitude and torment

in my (longing) of you.


Ok I know this is really crap. But how can I make better? Or should I just scrap it entirely?

Reviews greatly appreciated. Thanks guys.

X x x