Bitter Walk Home

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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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