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cant make you love me

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there are two ways this can go,

you can either kiss the boy,

hold him and love him,

or you can butcher him --

bathe in the pristine absence of him,

or in the isolating dark of his blood.

 

however, neither will happen.

 

the child will live,

the prepubescent love of your life.

 

you’ll stare at him from afar,

and he will carry on,

unknowing of the way your shadows fix

themselves into every wall

he walks past by.

 

behind the beat down car,

and the burned out cigarettes on your arm,

you’ll wish you could move,

take one step,

and just move.