Staring from the mirror back,
The complex past, displeasurable fact
But things I no longer think to change.
Accepting, trying to mend the pain,
The exception, that I'm still hurting;
The source, still of that same vein.

All those days, like a dunce
Sitting in the parking lot
Of her university.
A heart she never sees

Things unraveling, with no reason.
Hurt people, Hurt people;
Should I let this heart atrophy?
Or let misanthropy and apathy consume it?
Any naive notion disabused
Like love
Advantage, to you
All used

Some, is too little
And more is never enough.
Your chalice spill, an overflowing cup
You would still moan
For a top up

What a web
Of clever widows.
The venom burns,
Acid lapped wounds,
Too early for the pain to subsist.
And of what I know,
She has yet to confess
And likely never remit.

Scalding my palm
On her rosy skin.
We are young, with a love that's warm
In it's infancy; honest, open, and giving.
I burn for her,
A wildfire of desire
With no forests' end.

I yearn to be the
One she does, when
She learns to love again.

Keep the focus.
There is, more to this
And more than this.
Keep moving forward