He could have scratched his itch
With one of the many women in this world
Who justifiably enjoy casual sex.
Instead, he thought it would be more fun
To see if he could break
The heart of a demisexual.
Now, I am at the centre of his debate;
Of whether he loved me
Or merely lusted over my body.
I regret that I let him do either.
I wish my body was still
Mine.
Rather than the chest he buries
All of his sins in.
Maybe I am being too harsh.
Maybe at some time
He saw me as more than hollow wood
But those around him
Wanted me to
Burn in hell.
Maybe my burial
Was his last hope at happiness
In a different time.
In that case,
Who throws away riches
To appease those around them?
To wait for him to build the perfect island where we could be happy
Is a wish that will always be washed away in the waves of
Others. I will dig myself out of this hole he dug for me
And sail away so he never has to
See me or
‘My evil’
Again.
Green Glasses 