With pursed lips and parchment
I glance back at these parables
Searching for the moment
The penchant paradoxes

As I flick though pages
Like the metaphorical surgeon
Diagnosing where it all went wrong
For references

To evidence
For signs that burnt my tortured eyes
But I am no medicine man
No academic of the heart

Yet still I keep searching
The scientist bent on proving theorem
But I am delirious with pain
Draining my purchase on reality

Search emotive pages
Flick through notes on the soul
This is no time for analysis
I lay down my pen

And cross out your name