The truth was a subtitle scribed
in a pen filled with ink of sin
It was two words: just friends.
Though we pretend that’s all we can be
Behind this veil we call reality,
I can tell there’s more than this fallacy
But we continue to feed each other
That’s why we’ll never be …
Just Friends
Next of kin is what I feel when I’m with you
Can’t pretend there’s not a fire and we’re both moths
Addicted to an ever-burning flame,
Still claiming we could never be more than friends.
Yet and still, we’re back at it.
And you’re telling me that I can have it,
Any way I want it.
But today, I don’t want it.
Yet there’s no way to stop me
From getting on it
Because it’s already enveloped me
Like a postmarked love letter
Sealed with a forbidden bit of bliss
And once our lips meet, there’s no turning back
From what we came to get.
You reach your high,
And I come, too.
Then we start to reminisce about the good ole days
Like only lovers would do.
Now I start to think, but not aloud
Surely there’s more to offer than just this,
Fuck friends, because we’re fucking friends
And when friends fuck, they can’t be fucking friends.
So I guess we’ll never be … just friends.
So what are we supposed to be?
Maybe we aren’t to be
Wonder what you’d say if these thoughts came out of me
So I found my pen, and made love to a letter entitled:
We’ll Never Be …
Free unless we truly express what we feel,
And stop concealing what we need to reveal to ourselves
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