Poetry

False passion

I should have known

when I lost the taste of your lips,

and forgot the warmth of your caress,

that we were no longer in love.

The blissful days

of summer’s interlude

filled with memories

of laughter and sheer joy

seem almost like a distant memory.

If I were to pinch my skin now,

will I wake?

Your hateful face is blurry now

and the imprints of your hands

are finally fading.

I should have known

that when I was away from you,

I was the happiest I’ve ever been,

bingeing on your skin

and pleasure,

dizzy with rebellion and false maturity,

you were on of my biggest regrets.

But I’m glad that I met you.

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