Fucked as it is,
I accept the reality.

It’s a paper cut,
but the body is life
and it still hurts
like hell.
More than a slash,
infected by expectations and
trying too hard.

No, this is a very small cut at the tip of my life’s finger.
Hoping it will heal,
keeping it there in my head,
behind your face that is filed in ‘recently thought about.’

Sadness fills me at the worst time, right?
When I, without wanting it, feel myself fill with sexual love.
I know it can’t be lust, because I have felt love before and here is!
Knocking hard, below my belt and through my chest.

I’ve been with few before,
but I usually have to work so hard to even feel lust.
And all you have to do is smile.
Sometimes not even that,
sometimes is just a presence.

And I have been trying so hard,
and I thought it was over.
And I thought I didn’t have to fight anymore,
but here we are.
Here I am,
thinking in the night
and scolding myself for it.

Rapids, take my thoughts away,
and wash away any dreams that try to seep through.