1.
The seasons changed,
but he kept wearing a sweater
during the steamiest weather
He spoke in three languages,
but has only felt the word:
Melancholy,
and the joyous absence of it
He wondered who he would
be without his sweater,
and the word Melancholy
2.
He never uttered the word father
for it was heavy on his tongue
like heavy rain on a bleak midnight
His mother loved him dearly,
or ruined him and called it love
A man has fallen in love with him,
and he felt for the first time; the
warmth of equally returned love
His lover tore apart his heart, and
told him it was the final act of love
3.
After eleven years of insomnia,
he stopped measuring happiness
based on how many nights he slept
A funeral rose in his heart as he wept
He muttered the word:
Suffering
as if it were
a prayer
or a lullaby
4.
Drawing road maps on his skin
was his only consolation,
he chose the color red
to find his missing path
Scars between his thighs
like hidden treasures—
Centuries deep
away from people’s sight
5.
His new beloved was in
the shape of a knife,
they embraced and
the gushing blood
was his final act of love
This is simply me in a poem. Mercury is in retrograde am I right?