Bitter Walk Home
Stepping along the street, heading to see her again.
She minds the counter and all I can do is stare.
Right there, feet, inches, soft, sweet, beautiful.
Pay for my shit and run away.
I can tell everyone is laughing at me, even when they aren’t.
But nothing can compare to this ache in my fucking heart.
Get back home, I want to go back, I want to say the words.
But I stand and do nothing, it’s what I’m best at.
Write a note asking for a date, sits in my wallet unused.
Welling up inside is the self hate, fear my mind likes to abuse.
No reason for the fear, that’s what I tell myself.
But there are really many.
What if she says no?
What if she says yes?
I’m not sure what scares me more.
She’s right there, and if I ever had a chance every day it slips away.
And I tell myself to act but I never really try.
The panic, anxiety hits before I can even get half way.
The monkey of dread on my back beating me every day.
So I sit writing bullshit that means nothing.
Words are easy when no one is facing back.
When nothing is at stake.
So many words I can use when I’m alone with my pen.
They fail me when I see her, this is my sin.
To remain alone, unloved, unfucked, and unfriended.
I want to taste her skin.
I want to make her laugh.
I want to make her cum.
I want to give her a tongue bath.
I want to know everything about her.
I want to give her the world.
But I can’t have anything I want, not the love of that beautiful girl.
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