The Moral Dilemma: Poetry

I stand beside him
And he is like a
His presence now
is absence
Of warmth:
Is it a lie or isn’t it?
That ache is so deep
That trying to touch it
Is like pressing the valve
Of my tears
And it is eating me
up inside
All these things,
these secret things
I am scared to
touch that hurt,
It runs right through me
In waves that don’t stop
It burns my stomach into
Cinders until I can’t
see straight for the life of me
And all I want
is to make it go away;
I want to run
Is it a lie or isn't it,
this rumor that I've heard?
My mind can't expel
the doubts,
And my heart can't dispel
the misery
of knowing something
as yet unproven that
no one suspects but me.

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