Why do I pray for love long past?
The sorrow wicked, rife with dust,
To stay or go, that is my shame,
How do I go? That is my pain.
Why do I wake, day after day,
Pretending it is all but lust?
However hard, I got so far,
My heart is burning like a star.
How do I leave, how do I see?
The options none, save rope from tree.
But me or him, who will be left?
When all is said and all is theft?
Of broken hearts, posessions too,
Why do I feel just like a shoe?
This triangle of tainted lust,
The love we had is all but rust,
Too close to see, too far to trust.
Why do you treat me like a game?
Why only call me by my name?
The pattern lost in endless fire,
Repeating again in this great mire.
This swamp bog of willowed trust,
The sadness that we all should share,
Encompass thee in its white snare,
Its prickles tame, yet pain and shame,
Will haunt me to my very grave.
And so as yet, we all should see,
This wicked great debauchery,
Has made me strong at heart and some,
But time has come for me to run.
Run from the flame and sorrow too,
Run into greatness and trust too,
To find the one willing to take,
This great pain and make it fame.
To make it not sorrow and lust,
But love and intrigue for this past,
Forgotten not, but shared, endowed,
Just scratchmarks of a troubled past.