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eating out
fingers pressed upon, but not knowing quite what to do.
i know it is what you wanted, but now you seem to be through.
not another nite alone, with arms tucked tight.
you say everything is good, and i know something isn't right.
close clenchted fists,
open bleeding writs,
no wrongs made right,
no enemies to fight.
waking up to the morning, all is well, but somehow different.
he places words in mine, and words once sharp, are somehow bent.
but i know everything good will fade, and once again calmly rest.
but how do i know that i am choosing the best of the best?
