It's back again!

Melancholy, I think.
Uselessness, maybe.
Feeling unwanted, by the way.

It's definitely deeper than before.

my color is turning, I think.
Spirit is fading, maybe
Feeling Hopeless, by the way.

It never went away, I guess

We will see what happens.
No control of my own.

Taken for granted, most likely.

This feeling inside me.
Why. Why wont it go away.
It's in my voice & in my throat.
It's in my eyes & in my hart.

This longing, this emptiness.
It bothers me so.
I try to let it go.

I try to go about my day.
A normal day, it can not be.

I try to let it go.
It's of no use.
Crap, Crap, Crap!

The season is changing;
I liked, the long daylight
I loved, the warm sun and the display of natures best

I liked, cool rivers in the heat of the day
I loved, the busy day and the seemingly short nights.

My confidence & happiness was at there best
When my successes were much easier

The season is changing;
I dislike, that my youth is dulling
I hate, the weight that camouflages my inner self

The season is changing;
My confidence & happiness steadily diminish.
There must be a purpose to push on.

I am being phased out.
Just a withering leaf about to be plucked.

Regrettably, the season has changed.

An Orange,
It's round and soft,
It fits perfectly into a hand.

It's natural form is seriously examined.
Tumbled about by the thumb and four fingers.

The thumb decides to investigate closely,
The textured softness gives way,

A large chunk of the skin is torn off.
and white flesh is exposed.

The fingers roll in from the side,
to aid the thumb.

The pale white and scared skin,
oozes a sweet fluid.

A naked and scared form remains

The hand wonders,
what can be done to redeem the Orange.

Its mangled form must be eaten!
Its the noble purpose for this Orange.

She's a selfish lover, armed with stunning beauty.
She hunts joyfully for an innocent & caring heart,
She wants to satisfy her longing spirit.

Self validation by conquered hearts.
Conquests, like trophies on a night stand.
Each victory validated by a wounded spirit.
Her potent satisfactions soon dwindles.

Repeated victories, must be obtained.
Scores of bleeding hearts form rivers of tears.
Each conquest screaming from nearby roof tops.
Her Reputation becomes known by many.

The walking wounded,
They protect their dulled spirit
With raised eyebrows and gently shaking heads,
With muffled voices they warn, she is trouble waiting to happen.

I have been bitten by her kind of love.
The sting lingers in my heart,
The scars noticeable in my spirit & in my eyes.

I have her disease now.
My heart longs for love.
Not for Revenge!
But, for recovery and for self validation!

I've torn off my passion with force and lye
but not my curiosity.

Love is diminished.
Lust is no more.
What is left?

Convenient Love?