i said i didn’t have regrets, but that wasn’t entirely true, it turns out there are a few things i wish i could undo. mostly, i regret the value i put in your words. each facet of me you put in your poetry now rings of falsity, all that is left of your words are lies. what i truly regret is my own stupidity.
To tell the truth
Sometimes it feels, she’s driving me into insanity.
That every story told was true.
Every piece of poetry I wrote for the faceless figure of companionship, was for her.
This, is something dreams are made of.
An experience of a universal phenomenon
which flows behind every culture
and hides away, in quiet places.
Some greater force, greater spirit, loves
Not sure if she’s a manifestation
but it’s overwhelming to be around,
with any of the five senses.
Every word, every action, every expression, every conversation
is a proof of beauty.
I missed her, but didn’t know she’d be that beautiful.
She’s beyond expectations.
that I always dreamed would be
somewhat, a perfection.
She entered with open arms, shared experiences of the outer world, the other side of soul
and said, I love what you’ve done with the place.
In the end, I’m sure of it,
people have gone insane
for a lot less.
to tell the truth, you said,
you only want what you can’t have.
to tell the truth, i say,
my biggest regret of all
was thinking you were worthy of having me at all.