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?
Slow is the step of the broken hearted
Dragging heels they mourn the departed
Quickly though, thoughts feed anguish
Until its glutenous presence extinguish
All hope for better days.
My love is a prescription drug
It’s full of cautions and side effects,
Warning of overdose.
It can heal and it can destroy
Though mostly it destroys me…
The ache he feels spreads to his fingertips
From the core of a beating crimson heart,
It eats away at him from the inside.
Rapidly expanding like a sheet of ice.
When time and time again he fails
And time and time again he tries
His heart, a broken furnace, seized mid-rhyme
As icicle thoughts plunge through gray matter
And limbs lose momentum with each stride,
The life he once knew, never seemed further
Or more difficult to hide.
All waking hours blur
Into a seamless night.
No matter the sun’s dominance
In an azure hued sky,
The dreams reclaim me
Nor any hope sparks a light.
His self-esteem lies in a fetid puddle
Staring up at him in longing
Wishing to restore its place.
He tries to cup it within his palms,
To drink and in turn reinvigorate.
Alas, like all things in his life
He grimly watched his salvation
Trickle slowly through stiff fingers
As though his skin turned to stone
And soon, his heart followed.
For swiftly the tears of regret
Flow like Neptune’s sea
From burning eyes,
Eroding his grip and
Withering away his heart,
All hope is swept away
With the ebbing tide.
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.
Fate is an unrelenting brute.
It’s never tempted by diversion
Or wise men with silver tongues
Forming hopeful hypotheses.
It’s simple though: Que sera, sera.
The young mother,
an abandoned lover,
has felt the cold steel
Of Fate’s unbiased blade
Gliding easily along her cheek
And perhaps the cackling clown
Sobs quietly in his room
After a standing ovation.
Remembering, all too well
Why his smile is simply a mask.
He dreams about her far too often…
No matter the elixir he consumes.
Whether it be wine,
Or a dry martini,
A swig of codeine,
Or herbal remedies,
They never cease.