What’s love without the
thrill of the fear of failing
to catch the game?
What’s a lonely bed beside
shame spreading like a wildfire
across a frozen lake of empty spaces?
She’s intrigued by the voices
inside my head.
I buried my withdrawal
of her love as my painkiller,
but death strangled the confidence I’d
gained through a therapist that I’d spent my last
dollar to rearrange my introspections.
Her warm lips are the life and death of me.
Loneliness escapes its meaning
and its reasons for exhausting my self-esteem
dies-by-love just in time for another season.
(© 2022 AC)
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