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Do you know what it is to be tortured in love?

Not that it may see you perish within the day,

instead it eats at you slowly as you wither away.

Whatever strength you had left to look forward

And instead, found yourself looking back in dismay?

Have you felt the petals of a rose, like a bouquet of daggers

Sliding gently, without injury, along the line of your throat?

Threatening the ultimate, yet delivering only fear.

I ask, have you ever felt the burning of unrequited love?

O this ache has found new depths

Burrowing deeper with every second

Spent in exile from your caress.

I haven’t a clue if I have spoken

Out of term, or have I broken

Some trust you thought I’d earned?

O how I wish you’d tell me dear,

Why it is you refuse to come near,

When just days before,

On our warm golden shore,

We drank the stars to our delight

Until the pale silver light,

Of a full moon bathed your skin

In an ethereal glow.

O how I wish you’d come back

To the ways of yesterday

O how I wish, how I wish…

Before I fall too far, away from you

Before the weight of loneliness,

Implodes, rending my heart in two.

It was another fever dream
A bender loosening slowly,
Then tearing out the seam.

The yarn ain’t flowin’ true
When the tale has two ends
And it all ends in a feud

But what’s a man to do,
When his lover loves another
And no quick thinking
Will make it untrue?

What’s a man to do.

When you see yourself through the distorted lens of depression, you have trouble recognizing your own reflection. You can’t see the seam separating your normal self from the irrational being that calls you its host, and shows none of the courtesies a guest should uphold. The lines blur, and all that’s left is a pain that washes over your heart like a malevolent wave lapping upon your withered soul; a pulsating ache that ebbs with the ever-changing tide of humanity.

It would be unwise to decipher the ache in his heart.

So much so that he truly believes

If he were to dig down into the depths

To recall the origin of that wretched,

unwelcome, drowning sensation,

He would no longer have the strength

To climb out of that pitch black hole.

That he may be forced along Dante’s path

With no guide nor God to lead him safely.

For within those depths he will plunge, and

The path of the absurd waits hungrily at the crossroad.

Do I recite the name in hopes it will bring back that old sensation

When hope was in the air, and just that word could reincarnate

Every bit of splendor that we shared?

No.

All that’s left is the smudge in hindsight

The blur that fights for recognition,

When I’d really prefer,

It stay no more, or no less, than a tiny, insignificant blur

It saddens me that in this day and age, the majority of my generation cares more for what we display on the outside, rather than focus on the souls we stow on the inside. Until this trend diminishes, I do not see myself finding true love, but rather ignorant love.

Another note: If only we realized how full of shit each and every one of us really is, this world would be a better place

Is there no end to the guilt that I feel?

Do I blame myself for another’s yield?

If light means life then I must concede;

the darkness has found me, as daylight recedes.

It smears carbon black over eyes pearl white.

Concealing the pleasure, enforcing the blight.

The agony is a bore, life becomes a chore;

when all that I can fathom

is the day it ran me ragged.