Our Love Song Poem by Enchanting Owl

Flumping here with forsakenness,
Telescoping my own consciousness.
With the radio playing our song,
A song of rumination has been playing all along.

Rubbernecking out of nowhere,
A choir of cicatrix filled the air.
Disorienting girdled me totally,
Because grand nostalgia reminded me of you, sadly.

Letting long sufferings retched me,
Like running shoeless with gloomy plea.
But I needed to be understood,
Because all my desolate life I was misunderstood.

Dying is glass; living is wine.
Put the piece back to make a design.
Found myself walking like a voodoo.
Deadening, decreasing, and turning off the radio.