Regret

In The Face Of Death…

In the Face of Death
The absurdity resurfaces. Of life. Of love. Of (almost) all.
They say memories flash past.
Good times… great times…
That truth flashes. Regrets too.
That “the important” things become crystal.
Clear as water.

Ultimately unattainable.

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“I love him”, you say

“I love him”, you say.

In another life, I could be your lover.
In another place, it would be my lips you’d taste.

You seem happy. I know you’re not.
He seems faithful. You know he’s not.But you can’t leave him. “I love him” you say.More than twice, he cheated. More than thrice he lied.
More than once you caught him, more than twice you cried.

“I love him”, you say.

Is it him? Or is it ‘love’ you love?

On losing

I don’t like losing.
I hate the feeling.
It starts like a slow, murky itch.
Coursing from my gut, impairing my speech.
I babble a little. Move though I sit.
Words flake. No pitch. Thank heavens for my seat.

I don’t like losing.
I remember the feeling.
The cold dart, sticky throat.
Eyes peered, like daggers both.
The regret of time, the loss of mine.
Seconds took hours. Heaven’s fine.

I don’t like loosing.
Especially the feeling,
when she looks and says: “Let’s just be friends”.
Yeah, right, let’s play pretend.
She smiles, successful.
I stand, perplexed. “Is she remotely remorseful?”

I don’t like losing.
I guard my feelings.
Maybe that’s why I smile so easily.
It eases the lies and tricks everyone lightly.
To think I’m gay,
That I am not a bird of prey.

I don’t like losing.
I sweat the feeling.
Defeat makes me interrogate myself.
My choices, my dreams and all on my shelf.
The chances I lost and how far I have come,
Using the bottom to the stronger I have become.