Words do not arrive with much ado any more they tiptoe in my heart without any furore they arrive with guilty gait of someone passed it’s prime willing to welcome defeat as acknowledged crime I hear their whining steadily in my psyche I feel them in whole entity regardless of my like. Desires are not so aggressive these days agrees to whatever the situation says pale noons of melancholic gloom or dark starry nights of midnight blue pathetic as violated violin plays the dirge a whimpering symphony of emotional surge. Words do not transform into emotion often innumerable cups of caffeinated concentration continued sleepless nocturnal effort doesn’t prove to be of any useful pursuit frustration creeps in like leeches stealthily sucking up the last drop of intent from body. I pray, plea and prostrate to seek propriety I beg with folded ego for the sobriety None really pays any heed words don’t appear in need emotions are made to order Love is not an emotion anymore but a barter….
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