I'm never there

I have a smile on my face where others would put a frown, but I can’t or won’t do anything about it. I like it here between these sheets in this home where I will never belong. I enjoy the serenity in the aftermath of my actions.

I’m not here.
I’m never here.

He is my egoistic little satisfaction and my oasis sheltered from the outside world.
With his arms around me, curled up and almost asleep, he gives me an insight to something simple and clean. He is so far from complicated that a man can be and I savor that soothing scent and warm placidity he so easily shares with me. To me, easy doesn’t come easy.

I thrive in the luxury of denial while he runs his fingers up and down my back. This is as comfortable as it gets. No reality, no promises and no moral speech of sin.
There will be no need to go down to the water when there are no sins to wash away.
I need this feigned subsistence and therefore there is no guilt in me.

Call me what you like.
Judge me until your throat is sore.
I will keep smiling.

I like it here. I know this place. I know his face so well now.
But I’m not here.
I’m never here.

I’m never here.