Am I a liar or an actress? When I conceal my true feelings am I lying or acting? When my heart is screaming for a love and I deny it by my life am I lying or acting? When I exude confidence but the confidence settles on top of my skin am I lying or acting? I can’t help but feel like a liar. If it’s not denying a want for love or lust, it’s building a wall around my wants to hide them from the object of lust. I block myself from achieving the desired result before I even try. Can you say sabotage? I certainly can
Every sense in me pins a reminder of loneliness to my heart. The deepest scent should trigger want and desire, but nothing but pillows awaits my heart. The slightest caress urges my heart to find the nearest embrace. Sight is no aid, for seeing love without attaining it is taunting too terrible for the fiercest of fighters. The sound of a sigh is the scream of death. My filthy loneliness seems so long and unending, the hope that I have is completely irrational.
If he has as much sense as I, then my affections are wasted.
