1. Notes: 7 / 2 years ago 

    Words gifted, but never having needed to be said

    ‘tis true, of that murky, mercurial mirror, there are still some slivers
    As its sort is not easily forgotten, and aye we are not both givers
    Though I had hoped that it’d be clearer it is boughten and delivers
    at odd rodeo tussles, a rotten measure nearer to blood-polluted rivers
    Do you not see it? No? The slowly progressing terminal mutation?
    Which twists our friendship away from quiet, respectful adulation?
    I don’t think I ask all that much now, just that, for me, you be patient
    For the things worth having, I know dear, do seem to take their ages,
    but I can only assure you the drafts, and all of those torn-out pages
    aren’t yet worthy of any beaming smiles or tears coursing down our faces
    You may not think it but I have been crafting, tinkering in this pursuit
    of that perfect, not your style of vague, something so much more acute!
    To tell you what I feel, what I know, some of it you may openly refute
    Though most of which you’d have noticed if, well, you’re at all astute
    I do often feel that what there is between us is best left gladly mute
    So much of it just exists in a state beyond equal, but of similar repute
    All I care about is our shared love of words so all else seems so moot
    You know my pen’s paths, and where its favorite ones are to be found
    Due to your familiarity, you’re the last one who I could hope to astound
    In those idle moments, I think you do know my thoughts on us as well
    So why? Why is it that you’re so very incontestably desperate to impel
    my poison from my wounds? To eke out of my neurons any validation
    that you can wholly grab? There’s been extensive, expansive dictation
    on the matter so very often, in fact, it’s heard nearly every single night
    So, though I’m inattentive, soften. As you weren’t listening either right?
    Don’t you fear the point where all of it becomes so common and so trite?
    Sure, I’ll sit down, and I can give you what you’re after, I’ll easily indite
    a whole series of long poems and short stories dedicated in your name
    Their value would even envy the ones past times saw for a pasttime dame
    You know the one, she, who still, to this day, I would surely seek to blame
    for your jealousy and uncertainty as she has obviously dually been its aim
    She is now but echoes of half-whispers, the shadows of a ghostly glimmer
    That white phosphorus flash behind my retina is only ever getting dimmer
    For inside my mind’s looking glass she is now but a disappearing shimmer
    You two held a duel, at early dawn, in grassy dew, and Sammy was the winner
    Beware that your prize comes at a cost, one of a requisite need to consider
    the price you’ll have to always pay, in upkeep, in tribute to your saintly sinner
    I ask: as we stand together, what of us do you see painted in my pretty mirror?

  2. Notes

    1. roseyandherstuff reblogged this from inaweofchaos and added:
      The Boy I’m in awe of the boy. I’m in lust with the boy. Won’t you take a look at this boy, at his words, his myth, his...
    2. inaweofchaos posted this

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