the hand that choke-held my mind
the prisoner that i create
love can hurt no matter how beautiful
if one’s unkind to the belief
the self-worth escapes in episodes
patch it for a brief moment
but it tends to tear apart if one is weak
the fight doesn’t hold an equal value
to overcome the overwhelming fear
i’m on my knees
begging you to forgive me
only to whisper
it begins with self absolution of any misdeeds
no matter the fault
the accuser or the accused
you won’t leave
but how do I believe?
if i believe i’m the criminal of the crime i did not commit
the terror that love won’t remain
that my pain is the hurt i give
cause you harm and mistreat
nonetheless the warmth and comfort i receive
the vow that united and cemented our souls
fear
the dreadful thing
spills the doubts and questions what is real

© simon whitte — from lovers’ tiff: a ballad