LUCTUS
Frost spiralling on glass,
It’s misting,
Yawning limbs of moss glued on my windowsill,
And it’s still,
Still, I pondered, a treacherous task,
I pondered wanting and missing and trapping,
Like a ray of sunlight,
Enclosed by the silk of a spider’s wing;
Can it be explained away?
This strange lovehatred,
That has me undead,
Numb and in pain anyway,
Frozen to the bone with frostbitten lips,
And a midnight’s nightshade kiss,
Devoid of the warmth you stole,
This death is slow,
The sink is splashed with crimson,
And there’s screaming in my head,
Along with a sort of silence that’s strangely red;
Contend
with that which you fear,
And you be left with tears, in tears,
Is there a thing stronger than the terror, Loneliness?
A being more potent
than the Agony of being broken-hearted?
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