I am alone on this planet, it says so in my pact, and I have yet to know why, but by now it is habit, nearly a fact, to have her not by my side.
I face the familiar heart attack, of love I was denied, as I sit alone in my attic, without a friend to confide.
It has caused a panic, and I often hide, it may sound pathetic, but has been my sole link to survive.
Is this the life of a romantic, where feelings from the heart and wisdom from the brain collide, and funny, isn't it, how we can never choose a side.
I must remain incessantly sharp like the piercing tack
I will not be satisfied,
to say it was of my pick,
to say I have merely tried.
It must he old Scratch to play such a trick, to me he has lied, to say love will not render me sick, or feel like I have died.
Love must like to mock, that, I realize, but like the ticking clock, I let time pass me by.
Will I feel my last beat, or hear my last tic, and succumb to demise, to be stored as an ancient relic, in the back of a few select minds?
That I cannot predict but this I can say with pride, wound after wound lick after lick I will not, give up , try to survive, remaining as ceaseless and terrific, as the ocean tide..
I am not perfect
to falter and mis-take will surely still reside,
I indulge in my ups and suffer my downs like the candles lighted
wick,
and confidence is still deprived,
utopia is unrealistic,
just look at the constantly miscued mind.
It is true I prefer to look forward than back,
But I have been given a gift that forever I will abide,
Love may be an eternal epidemic,
But it is love I can provide,
That to me is life's greatest gift, regardless of how tragic,
I am infinitely indebted and to that, I am much abliged.