You are my doom, a Laura reincarnate,
and I Petrarch, bound to you by fate.
I'd pray for salvation, but whom to implore?
You? Or a deity I believe in no more?
.
You lurk, uninvited, in the corners of my mind,
the edges of consciousness, never hard to find.
Invading my thoughts – it's not very kind,
it is a death sentence, that I myself have signed;
Because I made no attempt to dispel such a thought,
visions of you, my heart blindly sought.
.
You are my drug, and recovery I shun,
I've tried rehab, but addiction has won.
You wouldn't ask Earth to give up the Sun,
or a bullet to fly without a gun.
So, trying to quit – with that I am done,
After countless failed attempts to run.
.
You are my sorrow, but these lines ease the pain,
as burns and bruises hurt less in the rain.
I turn my heartache into verse, and time slows,
as bittersweet loneliness into words flows.
I drain myself of the pain, I keep it at bay,
however, it never completely goes away.
.
In these poems, it is you I address,
but I wouldn't ever let you see this mess;
I write so this torture would hurt a little less,
as, repeatedly and fruitlessly, my love I confess.
So, these lines will never ever go to press,
as you won't hear my lips whisper: "S".
Aug 27, 2020
Aug 27, 2020 at 9:24 AM UTC
You are my doom, a Laura reincarnate,
and I Petrarch, bound to you by fate.
I'd pray for salvation, but whom to implore?
You? Or a deity I believe in no more?
.
You lurk, uninvited, in the corners of my mind,
the edges of consciousness, never hard to find.
Invading my thoughts – it's not very kind,
it is a death sentence, that I myself have signed;
Because I made no attempt to dispel such a thought,
visions of you, my heart blindly sought.
.
You are my drug, and recovery I shun,
I've tried rehab, but addiction has won.
You wouldn't ask Earth to give up the Sun,
or a bullet to fly without a gun.
So, trying to quit – with that I am done,
After countless failed attempts to run.
.
You are my sorrow, but these lines ease the pain,
as burns and bruises hurt less in the rain.
I turn my heartache into verse, and time slows,
as bittersweet loneliness into words flows.
I drain myself of the pain, I keep it at bay,
however, it never completely goes away.
.
In these poems, it is you I address,
but I wouldn't ever let you see this mess;
I write so this torture would hurt a little less,
as, repeatedly and fruitlessly, my love I confess.
So, these lines will never ever go to press,
as you won't hear my lips whisper: "S".