Virgin Matthew to Matthew

How I use to lay awake thinking of a future us,

How we would be smiling and my heart would be overwhelmed with joy,

It felt so real,

As though that future was not impossible, nor a figment of my imagination

How I’d picture our fingers interlocking between each other, finding comfort in something that wasn’t short of love,

But that all feels like a dream in this nightmare of a reality.

 

 

 

I used to paint you with colours of lust, hunger and danger,

All the excitement rushing through my body, 

I hated waking up from those slumbers,

Now I just hate waking up,

And all I can see when I look at you is all the deformity,

All the unhealed scars I stab every time he pops into my head,

And a part of me blames you, hates you for pretending to be the man I dreamt of,

When you were simply masking yourself as the hero to my story.

 

 

 

You allowed me to believe I’d receive the world when in fact you don’t even know what it is,

You’ve never seen it yourself, so maybe I’m more foolish than I thought 

For how could I have believed a blind man could see better than me

You who was to learn that pleasure was the poison fed to love to make lust was the man I laid myself bare to,

A man boy who is so unsure of himself, 

At times I wonder, 

If not for me volunteering to be the test doll, would I have been presented with the man I dreamt of

The faceless figure in my dream that promised me the world yet offered the Garden of Eden in the highest of heavens.

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