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Undelivered Feelings

The silence spoke volumes
I didn’t know existed
when these undelivered feelings
coursed through me. Though the ending
retained a sense of predictability,
my eyes refused to witness
the brutality of unwavering honesty,
the tender touch of my agenda
restraining the hopelessness
often applied to romance.

Always, I try frenetically
to grasp that which shines the brightest,
only to continuously return
with empty hands and bludgeoned heart,
to an existence
seemingly more meaningless
than before. Though you are a beauty
of utmost arousal, you are a cactus,
whose spines thwart the undeserving masses
with unequivocal poison,
my heart wanting to retain its warmth
than face the solace-less alone.

So, I hide within myself, malcontent
yet absolute, certain this tragedy
will provide a conclusion, better sustained
than what would have been.
With able mind I realize,
I will not risk your face,
so beautiful now,
turn into a scowl
the moment I reveal my feelings.
If this decision renders accusations
regarding confidence
and cowardice wrought against me,
then these slanderous remarks
I will regrettably suffer
without dismay, for I acknowledge
my deserving of these titles,
and I own this hesitation.

If only a sign, so subtle,
but immediate and paramount
could be issued, granting me allowance
to whether you were open
to love’s flame,
or wanted it blown out.
Despite the combustion of atoms
retaining less potency
than my love for you,
to some, romance is a horrific poison,
but even so, I would devour every drop
for you alone, if only to spend eternity with.