This sickness is winning.
Grinning while I lay beaten on the floor, blood pouring from my fists;
I have fought so hard, yet it has come to this.
An insatiable hunger to love and to be loved
has brought me to my knees,
begging for mercy.
Why do I allow my heart to care?
Why must I wallow in the mire of despair?
Lonliness pushes its weight upon me,
condesing my soul into a
compressed bundle of hypersensitive nerve endings.
Bending my will and it's got me
substituting thrills to avoid the ills
of the single life, with no wife.
Disgusting apathetic and frenetic
kinetic fatigue dripping from my mind
like raindrops form the petals of a rose.
Nothing so dreary can touch for long
something so beautiful, so tender, so sweet.
When the sun does shine and dry up the rain,
will along with my tears, so dry the pain?