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this was written as a part 2 of another poem caled “Moonlight Sits on Your Windowsill”, that i cant seem to find….
Traces of lust linger on my lips.
Threads of lies linger on my tongue
and in my ears.
I’ve lived a lie for so long I can’t
recognise a lie from another person
or maybe I don’t want to.
She answered and told me you weren’t
there, you’d gone home.
When I go to your home, she’s there.
She’s at pain to stress you’re
merely friends – why?
Guilty conscience. She’s besotted,
but you don’t notice. Or you do, but
pretend not to for my benefit. i cant compete with
that. I don’t intend to.
Why is she in your bed and not me?
She said she needed one last night
with you – one last night of what?
How can I trust when I’m the one lying?
Questions – never had so many go
unanswered for so long. I’m tired of
waiting for an answer.
Offer just got retracted.
I cant carry on lyiing – I’m only hurting myself.
And you’re hurting me.
Oh sure, you don’t mean to, but you are.
“Moonlight sits on your windowsill…”
What bullshit. How lame am I?
Lay my soul bare, nothing in return.
You’re a closed book to me – one I should never read, I looked at the cover,
chanced the first page and maybe it
was a mistake. Certain words are not meant to be read. Not by me.
Why were you in such a rush to
get back to her? I’m sorry for intruding.
What I don’t know can’t hurt me, but I know this, unfortunately, and it burns.
“Moonlight sits on your windowsill…”
Wake the fuck up. That was just an illusion.