The pain of which you speak .. That shall never be yours No more? I am steeped in it, Like a blanket of thorns Piercing my spirit, My heart torn apart. I thought I wanted to feel something, And that it would be ecstasy. All to brief that, then This artic ache of longing Just as before, State of shock setting in.. Stupefied .. I'm feeling, all right, A tumble of sensations I can't wait to show the door, But they're taking their own sweet time Getting out of here. Please, no more!
Reason for writing:
"Morning After" series, part trois
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