I imagine that maybe this was once something
that was strong enough to endure
what callousness you
mistakenly display.
I am naïve in the way
that young women
believe younger men
can love something
besides their dicks.
I am apt to train myself
to avoid your perpetual indifference.
You have become cold to me.
Your aura sputters in the darkness of my mind’s eye.
Another try?
Do I have such things in me to offer to you?
I am tired of prostrating myself
on your altar.
Can’t you see?
My past has bled me dry.
Coagulation has long since been completed, and
here I lay
severed and scarred.
Once immaculate,
now sullied.
I’ve been a fool.
I’ve been a fool.
I almost said I love you.
Mayhap I wasn’t that naïve.
(For L.G./10.2.06)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Mayhap? Internal mayhem? This poem make SENSE.