May 8, 2014 § 9 Comments
If only you had known how to read,
you never would have left that night.
But you’re a riddler, and riddlers can only rhyme.
This happened long ago— these words I’ve poeticized.
‘Does it hurt you still?’ You questioned.
No. I lied.
But you couldn’t read me,
so instead you kissed me—
I stayed up all night with your riddles.
I hope you slept with my lies.
Are we just friends? I asked you the next day.
‘Yes’, you riddled me.
Good, I lied.