Stop Writing

I don’t want her
to ever stop reading
these love-drawn words
that are exclusively hers.
She undresses
with each new thought
dancing bare top and panties.
Thinking, how in the fuck
did yesterday turn into today.
Face it,
you’re the girl
with the magical charms
that keeps spinning this web.
Oh, how she’s forgotten
the power she yields,
she hasn’t felt
for years now.
Perhaps this is why
I keep a journal
to keep her memory going
so she won’t forget
how it feels
to be someone else’s idol.
Teetering on lonely
I pull her back
then push her forward
daring her to jump.
She glances upward,
so eyes are locked into eyes
there’s nowhere
for her to turn
she has to answer why
love ever mattered to her.
What difference would it of made
if she never touched
the untouched source?
She wouldn’t care to remember
how love-sick feels,
all doubled over
hiding her favorite words,
as if, I’m a stranger.
Yet, she comes here
to secretly snort
every poem I’ve ever written.
She needs me
to get her daily fix
of a string of thoughts.
She promises herself
this will be the last poem,
until she gets the notice
I’ve published again.
I really then
get stuck in her head
until she’s all strung out
on her bright screen
reflecting how it feels,
knowing,
I’m in love with her.

7 Comments

  1. This used to be true for me and I was obsessed with secretly writing to my muse. I would check Google analytics just to see if she read my words.

    Like

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