I am trapped in this painful state of mine,
Where time’s soft healing absolves of my blame
Nothing, solace is sought with the next line,
Yet it only serves to deepen my shame.
Absolute error in its purest form,
Apologies are anthems we don’t sing
Lightly, desolate, I bequeath forlorn
Denials of unoriginal sin.
Man or Animal, fall prey to desire,
Torn asunder by guilt, or each other,
Icarian lust draws into the fire,
The Moth, whom flickered, and failed his lover.
Delicate, underserving of this pain,
I will let nothing extinguish the flame.