Silk

I see the way you look at him, and I wish that I could be that to you.

I see the way you laugh with him, smile with him, fall all over him, and look at him like he's perfect, like he's some piece of art, something unworldly gorgeous.

I see the way you cling to him like you're actually scared, when really it's just an excuse to hold him like that. The white-knuckle grip you have on him is something I could only dream of getting from you. It's a lifetime of trust, codependency, trust, when I know that when you look at me you don't see any of this trust. You see something I can't stand, and something I'd do anything not to be to you.

I see the way you look at him with love and trust, and then I see the way you look at me.

It's not love, and it's not trust. It's filth. It's lust. It's disgusting, the things you use me for. It's disturbing, repulsive; how you pretend that I'm him and do these horrendous things that I guess you do with him. It's revolting, how I feel after you're done with me. I know I'm a cover up, nothing more than a rebound, a toy, and though you always try to convince me otherwise, I know more than you think, and I can see that tinge of falsehood in those eyes that somehow enthrall me though they're so morbid, dead, immoral when I get down to it.

"You don't want this." I'll attest as you rise to your knees and start to tug at the belt loops of my slacks.

That suave, that sensually captivating half smirk will fade, and you'll get this look that weighs down my heartstrings like lead. These fake tears will start to well up in your eyes and just as I can notice you'll look down. "You really think that?" You'll ask, running the tips of your rough fingers just above my waistline.

I'll try and meet your gaze, always fooled by that act. "Well-"

Then you'll look up at me, some of that original lust back in your eyes. "'Cause it's not true." You'll have an unusually high voice, something I'll attribute to how badly you want it—how badly you want me. "I really do want this."

And then you'll smile a little, moving steadily in towards me.

"I really do want you, Cas." Your lips will meet mine, and they'll feel like silk, like perfection. I'll be putty in your hands. "And I think you want me too."

Things will ensue, but before the full effect can set in you'll be gone. You'll vanish, telling me never to repeat any of this as you find him, and cling to him the way you always do. I'll watch you leave, so vulnerable and exposed that it'll seem like the end of the world when you go, when I realize that you don't want me. I'll feel lost, orphaned, used, and be so broken up about it that it overshadows the fact that this happens every time, and the longer I sit there naked and abused on the mattress, the more times I tell myself never to trust you. It gets a little longer each time, and even though that time under the sheets has ability to throw me off so badly, I'll fall for it every time—managing to get more and more attached though I know somewhere that none of this is legitimate, and I'll end up alone on a creaky mattress watching you run to him and shed all the filth and lust to replace it with what you feel for him—and what you'll never feel for me.

Love

Trust

Something genuine and near perfect that I can only dream about getting from you.

xx