Sunday Morning


Its Sunday..bloody Sunday, have I said too much?
The words slip out of my mouth like poison, I remember your touch.
When they know they are  in the wrong, yet you cannot speak a word.
Partially at fault, for letting it move forward.
I am partially at fault, partially to blame.
However, your look to everyone is quite the same.
Flirtatious behaviour, turns to your stories and questions.
We speak about our lives, in just a waking moment with no bad intentions.
I cannot speak a word, because I know you’ll deny it.
However, I see the way you look at me and you cannot try and hide it.
All the moments shared, that noone will ever know,
When shit hits the fan so does denial, and that is how the story goes.
On my end, I said too much too,
I regret it, but never regret you.
You practically begged at that point to speak to me,
We talked about souls, and I thought about eternity.
Not eternity with you, but as we spoke nothing mattered,
In the daytime, it is ignored, illusions shattered.
Yet, you still seek my approval, because you know deep down
our conversations.. actually really mattered.
So I promise to you I will keep it confidential,
You look at me mad, but you know I am a good person, with potential.

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