Why can’t I cry anymore?

I used to be able to. 

I used to weep as I passed through

The double-door threshold of Middle school, charging into waters

Much better charted than those of today 

But now all I can do is sit, and brood

And scold myself for the intrusive thoughts

The ones that keep screaming at the top of their lungs:

“SEX, SEX, SEX, SEX.”

Is there any way out?

Am I doing this to myself?

Everything I think I’ve escaped

Heaves me back in with a vengeance

But oh her voice rings pure and true

It makes me sway drowsily

Like the pendulum of a grandfather clock

I drift through the dark doorway of reality and into the living room

Where I find her

Riding the music in a flowing Summer dress

Notes escaping her lithely lips

As she dips and sways and intoxicates me

She is the fairy tale that I deserve.

We dance and expertly twirl about the room

Never once do I take my gaze from hers

As the real me, in a dreamy stupor,

Devours every moment from the pantry 

He clings blissfully to the image,

The delusion,

Before deciding that enough is enough,

And begrudgingly ending the poem.