The Want
He hovers over her like a guardian, protective...
Possessive
But I know he's a poison, a death masquerading
as honey
I do not hate him, only what he does
And how he does, how he claims hearts with a
lackadaisical, carefree nonchalance
How he crushes hearts, how he claims them like toys,
excitement and negligence in moments of each other
How it pains me to be reminded, to be blinded...
To remember that he once held something...
Something fragile... precious
It was not mine then nor is it now,
But how I desired it and how I desire it
How I covet that which is by no rights mine to do so
Why I covet it... I do not know
He still holds it, holds hers
Hers and so many others... and why?
I do not know
For he does not want it,
Not hers, not another's
He wants to want and that is all he wants
In that wanting, there is some sort of depraved pleasure
Pleasure that only he can know and can never show
Thus I cannot hate him, but how I hate him
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