These lingering days contribute to the weariness I've recently cultivated.
Doubt has become my main driving force--
I am tired.
Much more cannot be explained in such a place,
when all has been lost and I teeter in surreal dazes.
It is a thick black fog that captures me every time;
And where would I take refuge without it?
Compare me to the Serpent,
you can.
You are obviously misguided.
It was the hand of a harsh man who sculpted me into this kind of form--
not love itself.
So don't blame her,
and don't label me.
She is tired,
just as I am tired.
'A neutral conclusion to a binding tale;
You could say.
Exhausted lady love has had enough.