The Price We Pay

to admire you is bliss.

to admire you is bliss—
to be loved by you
is paranoia and confusion.

so gather hemlock flowers,
let their white bells
whisper of poison and release.
i’d rather be frozen here,
a monument of our last breath,
than risk another broken promise.

my love—
i was never taught how to love;
forgive my fumbling hands.
i was never loved in return,
so i read your gestures
like half‑smoked letters.

perhaps i have no say
in this flawed devotion;
i offer you my cracked heart—
you may refuse it.

i am a washed‑up man
destined for solitude:
the price we pay for being smart,
the price we pay for being ahead.

still, thank you
for making me whole—
even if only in memory.