The contemplation of my state
The lone being
She as others abandon me
Not loved for my sickness
I let go
No friend needed, a lover
Still untrusted, never understood
Both real, and shearing pain of multitude of questions of and from unknown
How can I trust me if they don’t
The acrid distant sulphur, hellbound I will
My mind wants to escape
I feel to tear my thoughts
To stamp them out as a fire
Lonesome dark shadow clutching at my throat
Shall I give it satisfaction?
Or do the deed unto me?
To kill, to release, to calm the one I love.
Ian V. Seymour ©2011