You will find me ill with feeling
and crippled by a pathetic hope.
Small wisdoms are small victories
I am doing my best, but I am failing
at holding my tongue,
my breath,
my self,
away from you and your treacherous lyrics,
apart from your febrile mysteries
I am weak; submissive nature beleaguers me
I am sick; I warn you not to treat me
For you are the disease that plagues me;
withers me with love in your pyretic wake
I tremble in dread torment and longing
as I feel each step that encroaches
…closer to me.
Tread lightly, lover, for it is you who crushes parallels.
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