I Don’t…

I don’t wanna be a reason to feel guilty.

The reason she cries.

The need for privacy.

A muse for your lies.

I execute vibrant emotions

But fail to realize…                           I should be ashamed.

I don’t wanna be second hand devotion.

A need for you to find philosophical excuses to make us ok.

I’ve become your tat for her tit

That extra little bit of lip in every argument.

That extra push for the end.

The secret arrangement.

The letters in your diary,

Just,

Acronyms that equal you and me.

You know she can’t put it together, but the picture’s clear for her to see.

Beating our dreams of one another senseless.

Innocently naughty so no one can really blame us.

Becoming like, a high school love affair, but just a tad bit better.

So, in the end, will we risk us being together?