Have you ever loved, just like me; and lost?
It's been a lifetime since. I shouldn't care.
And yet, bereft of life, in horror's snared,
My heart aches all the same. Could I accost
My heart I would say, "Say, what will it cost?"
"Exhaust this pain! Run out you your despair!"
"I'm tortured in this flame, and quite aware..."
"Like Hell, do you go on, and turn and toss..."

Perhaps that's morbid, terse, or just perverse,
But **** this fool heart for all of this pain.
Sometimes I think it might end with a hearse.
Instead I write poems, till morning, amain.
Lest slip my grip, and lose all that I'm worth.
I hope my dreams bring me no coup de main.