I try not to ever lie,
But that taboo is suspended to myself.
I claim ' I won't think it, I won't believe it,'
but don't I just? don't I just do it anyway?
Perhaps not entirely, my inner cynic laughs tiredly
at the thought that he could ever love me.
I bleed.
Perhaps my soul bled too,
But I find myself wondering if I still have one.
Can there be a soul-mate without a soul.
Maybe, might be cyclic,
A four year, two year, too often cycle,
Though not a 28 day lunar cycle frequency
(still, I don't like the idea of a moon in my belly)
I am too weak.
I fall pray to the promises of empty rooms,
A bed, a heart,
And fall back to where my love has betrayed me before.
There is no other promise!
Yet I look for the future in his eyes.
It's not there.
It isn't, it isn't, it isn't, it isn't….
face it goddamn you.
I will.
Liar, empty rooms are yours.
-srw
3/8/99