Your taste, like acid, burns my tongue.
Fermenting, foul, never young.
I may be older than my bones,
But not enough to hear your moans.
It’s funny how you say my name
Like it’s hypnotic, lost in Love’s game.
I know better then to believe,
Still, it’s hard not to grieve.
How many others do you seek to please?
And do they pay their hearts as fees?
I lost mine so long ago,
Before I could recognize you as a foe.
I wanted this feeling to speak the truth,
But I spoke with the naiveté of my youth.
Bitter now, too hard not to resent.
Foolish to think you were Heaven sent.
Am I also one to blame?
Am I untrue when I whisper your name?
Maybe it’s not meant to be.
Maybe you should set me free.