It happens a lot, this feeling that always seems as if to oscillate around my discernment:
Of darkness, and gorging pits of doom,
I've tried and tried to escape it vicariously through you,
Because you bare the tenor of uncut diamonds and sentiment beyond value,
Maybe I've been mistaken?
Maybe this was just a blunder of executing life through the figments of my imagination instead?
Why do I still seem to see you radiate even with my eyes closed?
My Surmise always beckons you will bare light if I choose to wake from my slumber now,
Or Perhaps I will be blind,
I've called upon you as if the sun, knowing that you have been nothing but darkness:
Grime and filth, Of dirt, charcoal, tar, and demise.
Is it me or is this love sadistic?
Is it me or is this unrequited?