denial
i do a bad job of convincing myself
that there’s nothing
nothing there
though i know there’s nothing good in the idea
maybe because
maybe because i know
you and i have something in common
we are both bad for me
and you completely wrong for me
and yet
this hushed want
that beats like a pulse
the thrill of the adventure
the thrill of the touch, of temptation
there
is
nothing
there
is
nothing
stopping
me
but myself
when rivers meander into a thousand parts where do they meet again? do they meet at all? when the constant black fills our heads why do we search for a cloud? why risk thunder by praying for rain?
why make things worse?
lying to myself is the worst
because i soon see right through it
right in, into the hazy fog of ‘i don’t know’
follow gut or follow guard?
where is the difference?
where’s my stop sign?
where’s the line?
