(a poem of obsession)
A constant pitter-patter—
tiniest of feet
echoes above, the upstairs
hammering at me, driving me to complete insanity
between shouting
whispers include your name,
clouding my worship of you, shading it
transforming desire into dark fixation.
Such attraction,
undermines all sense of right—
hidden between tattered pages
earmarked for certain tragedy
the kind without our hero
no savior, or happy ending
just a lullaby from the grave
chilling, allotted only for you.
This night is our time,
to consummate these bottled up feelings—
acting beyond all moral laws
holding you on this summer night
drenched by the rain,
covered by the darkness,
justifiable through the eyes of passion—
loving you to death.
- by blynd _ poet
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