Bukowski says "find what you love and let it **** you"
and i've done just that
like Snow White and the poison apple,
what was once flashy and alluring and right in front of my nose
has been consumed and is now a masticated pulp fuming rancid
smoke into my lungs
from the deepest pit of my heart
no prince's attempt at true love's kiss can pull me from this coma
i'm in love with the darkness and my enduring hope for light
a light so bright that it will illuminate my veins, my troubled thoughts
will change from knots
into silk chains,
but until then, i'll comfortably rest in my summertime sadness