x. catharsis

I had desires of you,

but when I had you for a while, 

I don't know what to expect from you

as the idea I had of you was so exaggerated 

that I couldn't bear the idea 

that you were just like that. 

That you were kind enough to let me in, 

yet cruel enough to push me away 

when you had enough. 

That you have the power 

to turn me upside down, 

to build me into something I swore not to be, 

even for a bit -- my parents. 

They were so reckless with their actions, 

knowingly it'll drag others down with them, 

but they didn't seem to care. 

And neither did we.

And I stumble upon a trash can 

looking for the feeling I had 

when your eyes only pierced to mine, 

my eyes, and my whole body, and my whole being. 

I look for it everywhere, 

countless of coffee cups that my weakened stomach couldn't bear, 

turns into reckless and fast driving at night, 

turns into taking pills on the floor 

until I sob because I have no more. 

I caught myself looking for you in my most vulnerable state, 

so much that I confuse myself for that night with religious experience. 

Confusing it -- a religious, almost sacrilegious communion -- with the places where you leave a scar. 

As if my body in your hand was like God himself taking me in, accepting me, 

flaws and all and messy, yet undeniably real, leaving me both condemned and absolved in the same breath. 

I wonder if it's the only time I've ever felt so sinful yet still showered with love. 

Unconditionally was the idea that I had of it. 

Now I realized adrenaline will be the death of me,

as I still swallowing you through drugs and I never wanted you less. 

Surely something must mean something, 

and surely that something mean different 

in the gaze of your hazel eyes. 

No, I'm not saying that it wasn't important for you,

because I know that it does, 

we both know that it does, 

like how you dreamed about it once and woke up, yet I kept dreaming it over and over 

that it finally feels real to me. 

I have bared everything.

I'm nothing but a whispered confession 

behind stained glass, 

while you keep your mouth shut, 

and I call that stifling, ignorant silence divine. 

It is the heavy guilt of our forbidden truth, 

a struggle to reconcile with who we wish to be, 

a weight that leaves me stuck between who I am and who I wish I could be. 

Truth is, I long for closure,

for a future that may never come, 

but for now, 

I just hold onto the truth that we are made up of our mistakes, 

and swallow it all with everything I have left in me.