The contemplation of my state
The voice
The lone being
Being left
She as others abandon me
Not loved for my sickness
Twenty years
I let go
No friend needed, a lover
Still untrusted, never understood
She distances
The voices
The scream
The violence
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

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