For the unreciprocated,

the obsessive,

the infatuated,

and the envious,

a late night lament for the reckless homosexual.

 

Only in the calm of the night

and the quiet of an alone bed

at midnight, can I write this

only now, twenty years on.

 

Only under flickering screen

in the cold light of night, with memories for company,

now I see it, plain as day.

 

Infatuation, quite possibly

Envy, almost certain

Bordering on obsession 

Love, definitely not

Unreciprocated on your part

Knowing I was into you, you made me, and how you loved it,

reckless for you.

 

I was a rollercoaster train going off the rails

Every text message you sent me

Heart faster beating

Screen flickering wildly

Pulse racing like a Ferrari.         

Narrowly missing, avoiding a crash.                                                                                                                                                                           

 

A hundred pins stuck onto canvas

to make a portrait of you

Part homage, part artwork, part voodoo.

 

If only someone would have hit me

hard in the face with a hammer

to shock me out of what I had become.

 

Hammer’s force so hard

that I would not have felt a thing

seeing your arms wrapped around another man.

 

As you kiss him, you look at me

sat with a date on the black sofa

Tattoos of stars on his arms

He asked nothing of me

If only he had punched me and given me a black eye

Maybe then I would have seen you

for what you really were

Allow him in to love me

Not push him away.

 

I still text you and you still text me every now and then

Never admitting, we were both as reckless as each other back then.

 

Waking up at dawn, I read over my midnight musings

I conclude that I have written, in the cold light of day,

a (surprisingly) careful and considered lament

taking into account of me being  

a former reckless homosexual.