In writing this out
I’m writing myself up
For you,
This is
The synthesis of my sins
Into this little package of words,
[[Or box of worms?]]
Not so neat,
Actually pretty messy.
Black letters jut out
From this paper bag parcel.
The verbose spiders
Can’t seem to keep their
Limbs inside;
How it constantly feels in my mind.
One last attempt
To compose
My past mistakes.
A paradox in the making
So here we go baby.
You love me,
Well I love you more.
And here’s the evidence why;
The struggle to keep
From punishing myself
Has ripped me apart inside.
Damage done
Should equal
Compunctions retained
And then some.
You know this.
I want it for you
My body and mind are yours
Forever
And so are my perpetual regrets,
Forever of wrongs unto you.
the notion to reflect them on the outside
Is painfully clever,
For one
Who believes in reaping
Everything that’s been sown
Into the past.
And “It’s in the past,”
You always tell me;
That I’ve beaten
Myself up enough.
Well I’m sorry baby,
I still don’t quite agree.
One last attempt
To end this guilt
Poetically.
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Submission Name: Black Lettered Spiders & Loose Legs
