Thursday, August 14, 2014

Conversations with self.

I have never been at a loss for words.
There has always been something to say
A side to take, something to fight for.
I have never made compromises
To comply with life before
There’s a different me in the mirror.
I am almost prompted to ask
Who are you?
But I don’t.
I know I am afraid of the answer.

This is it.
Everything you ever wanted,
Is this close to being yours
And this close to slipping away.
How can you say
There is no choice?

And so he left.
Did I not warn you?
His ways were fickle.
His manner was elusive.
No, you are not him.
And will never be.
Be thankful for that.

The poet of love
His words were ethereal
His pen was magical
His muse was unreal.