I've wasted your time,
now your time doth waste me,
I often deem my hate for you,
upon mundane fears of losing sight.
forever in pause you grabbed the hands,
not of mine, but that of time.
You play with the memories,
you sicken all that is me,
You take these clock peices,
you take me back through everything,
Every hurt, and every pain,
every word, You've deemed insane,
every thought You thought of me,
every scar or wound you've ever given me.
You still reach out with a bloody arm,
pretending to carress me,
when all you wish to to is penatrate me with your words.
just as venom they spread,
ripping apart the veins already past the brink desecration,
Euthanasia of the sweetest degree dost finally take me.
Hmmm, if the person you are talking about takes you is that truly euthanasia? Isn't that murder? Or were you referring to an emotion taking you over? Either way this was dark and chilling, which is what you meant it to be right? !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
CL, I love you, but have a difficult time with the admixture of archaic words you use. If it is your chosen style, so be it. All I really mean is that it throws me off a bit; but what is there is always frosting on as cake, a handsome bit of meaningful decor, and always rife with meaning and glorious taste-temping fruit....