Friday, May 29, 2009

Mania

A face as white as yours,
With lips as red as a bloody stab wound,
An injury caused by providence
Only hurting male onlookers
Through the pain of want
But never you..

Your eyes are blue as a desert sky,
They exist only to torment me.
With more precision than the most skilled and
Enthusiastic misanthrope
You inflict unendurable longing and deep, ebbing pain
To my already wounded and naive hubris

You don't recogise me.

But what I cannot have,
I will not recognize
For there is no point
If my will cannot triumph.

A thousand times I say
the last time my being will be devoured and digested
that was.

For sure. For certain. This time my indepence is for keeps.

But as you well know I always come back for more
And try as I might
There will never be a complete release from the prison of my infatuation

I am caged.
You are my keeper.

You are a foxymoron
And I am a lame bloodhound.
Baying at the injustice of it all

Do you see it too?
Just for you I have developed this mania.

The pure hatred of love.
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