Dedicated... to the tear in the teen’s favorite dress, or the gnarly tree in spacetime ’bestowed it, or a few buds at odds between.
She'd feared the fear (itself or not)
That grief would end (a wreck besot)
That bliss was just a pavement bend,
That hearts would rot,
That minds would bore,
That tastes would sour ever more...
Till all her thrills were soft and sappy;
Innocence the only happy
consolation for the loss
of faculty and omphalos.
She scowled. She didn't give a toss
That it would pass,
That time would mend,
That life could comfort, calm, befriend...
She wanted want in every vein;
Longed for burning.
Yearned for pain.
P'rhaps she loves more when insane.
Please give back the piercing rain.
Refresh the dregs which dare remain within her twisted thirsty soul...
Let her stumble like a foal (on mangled legs, the conscience writes. )
and madness swallows whole
as soon as breath is drawn.
An ode to life's an urge to quench
fresh ardor for her labor stench; to drench it all in mania and birth another dawn.